


Domino Milkshake

by SilenceoftheLlamas



Series: Fake Dating [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M, The Autobots only have one braincell between them, the Decepticons have two and they belong to soundwave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22971910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceoftheLlamas/pseuds/SilenceoftheLlamas
Summary: Jazz drunkenly pretends that he's dating Prowl. Only he isn't, and the mech is right behind him.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Series: Fake Dating [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650868
Comments: 170
Kudos: 339
Collections: Loose Shanix





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I saw something about a twist on the fake-dating trope and I just had to.  
> I only wanted this to be just the one chapter but it kept going and I'm going to have some fun with this instead.  
> EDIT: After a very informative comment, there's been a name change! Fingers crossed this one is much more appropriate, weeh ;_;

Jazz sat in the bar with Blaster, a tall pitcher of bright pink engex on the table in front of them with delightfully shaped glasses to match.

Just a decacycle ago, Jazz had transferred to the Iacon base from Polyhex. Blaster was an old friend who he had known since their days at the academy, and it was high time that they’d had a catch up.

“Ah’ve only been here, what, a groon? Maybe two? But ah’ve already got m’self a good network. Ya would not believe the mechs Ah’m friends with, Jazz.”

“Sounds like ya’ve been busy.” Jazz replied, sipping on his drink through a curly straw.

Blaster laughed. “Don’t ya be like tha’.” He tutted at him, waggling his finger in his face. “S’all strictly professional!”

“Sure, sure.” Jazz cheekily waved him off. “So, what dirt have ya got on my team?”

“On Ops? Nothin’. No, honest, Ah don’t have a thing. Ya spooks are as secretive as they come.”

“Aw, boo.” Jazz huffed, chin in his hands as he pouted. “They still haven’t warmed up ta me.” He sulked.

“Nah, don’t be too worried about it.” Blaster waved him off. “They’ve all got a reputation for bein’ all standoffish an’ aloof. ‘specially tha’ Mirage.” Blaster grimaced. “He’s actually a bit of a dick.” Jazz snorted hard enough to attract the attention of the Praxian mechs at the table next to them, the group turning to look with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance before returning to their own conversation.

“Mech-!” Jazz laughed. “Come on!”

“It’s true and everyone knows it.” Blaster justified as he drank his own drink, pausing for a moment to refill his glass. He held it over Jazz’s as if to pour and looked at him in question. At Jazz’s nod, he refilled Jazz’s glass too.

“So. Onto business.” Blaster smirked. Jazz felt dread settle in his tanks. Oh, this couldn’t be good.

“An’ what business would that be?” Jazz asked, crossing his legs and leaning backwards in their booth.

“Ah’ve got a good network, an’ Ah’ve been keepin’ an optic out for someone for ya.” Blaster winked at him.

Oh, that dread was oh so very justified. Jazz tried to school his expression as best he could to hide his grimace.

“Blaster, look, Ah really don’t wanna-”

“Just give it a try, yeah? Ya’ve been lookin’ real lonely lately.” Blaster placed his chin in his hands and regarded his friend with a look of almost motherly concern.

“Ah’m really fine, Ah swear. Ah can sort m’self out.”

“Ah just don’ want ya ta be lonely. It doesn’t suit you.”

Jazz racked his processor. What could he possibly say to get Blaster off of his tail for a bit? He appreciated the concern – he really, really did – but right now he was pretty much married to his job, and not to mention the nature of it...

“Ah’m actually… kinda, maybe seeing someone right now.” Jazz said, hiding his expression behind his curly straw and rubbing the back of his helm, processor racing as he tried to think of someone to name drop who Blaster couldn’t _possibly_ know. Think, Jazz, think!

He thought back to his orientation. He wasn’t the only bot to transfer in – there was a total of fifteen of them – quite big, all things considered – and one of them stuck out in particular simply because they were quite honestly his opposite, and certainly not someone who Jazz could see himself associating with. And thus, by extension, he couldn’t possibly see _Blaster_ knowing them.

And so, he bit the bullet.

“Oh!” Blasters face lit up and he excitedly wiggled closer to Jazz on his seat, leather squeaking under him. “Who who who?”

“Prowl.” Jazz felt his face heat up slightly. Primus, he couldn’t believe he was doing this. Just how much had he had to drink?! This was so insanely stupid! “Ya know, the Praxian mech? Red chevron?”

“ _Prowl_?” Blaster choked on his own saliva. “Seriously?”

“Ya know him?” Jazz asked in shock, energon running cold. Oh, _noooo_!

“Oh, do Ah.” Blaster grumbled. “We’ve been stationed together more times than Ah care ta count.”

Oh, wasn’t that just so lucky for Jazz, then.

“What’s he like?”

“Aren’t ya datin’ already? Shouldn’ ya know?” Blaster quirked an optic ridge at him.

“Ah just want ta know what he’s like when he’s not tryin’ ta woo anyone. An’ Ah said kinda maybe!” Jazz whined. “Don’ make it so official!”

Blaster didn’t reply, far too busy staring right over Jazz’s shoulder. A hand came down beside Jazz, another mech leaning in next to him.

“Jazz?”

Oh, _crap_.

A white hand and a white arm, perfectly opposite Jazz’s own colouration. Thick Praxian accent. The smell of wax and new datapads.

Prowl.

“Ah didn’ see ya there!” Jazz fought to recover. “How long’ve ya been here?”

“A while.” Prowl replied. “I was about to go and grab another drink, care to join me?”

His tone left no room for any argument, and so Jazz slid out of the booth and fell into step with him, the walk excruciatingly silent. Jazz couldn’t get a read on him, his expression gave nothing and his field was pulled in so tightly Jazz wouldn’t even know he was there.

“That wasn’t particularly wise of you.” Prowl commented as they stood at the bar together. Jazz could feel Blaster watching them, and it was only the fact that he was so well trained that stopped him from looking back.  
“Not really.” Jazz replied. “Feel free to continue to pretend that Ah don’ exist.”  
“I hardly think that is appropriate behaviour for mechs who are supposedly ‘seeing each other’.” Prowl bunny eared. Well trained or not, Jazz couldn’t stop the furious blush.  
“Ah panicked, okay? Ya just happened to be the first mech Ah thought of.”  
“While I am flattered, I am curious as to why you lied.”  
Jazz heaved a sigh. “He keeps wanting to set me up with other mechs. Ah’m so tired of it righ’ now, Ah just wanted a break. He means well, but...”  
Prowl hummed and tapped his chin. “This may work in my own favour, then. I am not unfamiliar with meddlesome mechs. If it gives me five minutes of peace, I am willing to play along.”  
“Ya’ve also got mechs tryin’ to set ya up?”  
Prowl grimaced, the first expression that Jazz didn’t have to hunt for. “I am sure they mean just as well as Blaster does for you.”  
“So it’s settled, then. We pretend for as long of a break as ya need.” Jazz couldn’t help but smirk up at him.  
“Settled indeed.” Prowl replied, expression softening. “What would you like to drink?”  
  


* * *

They’d ended up spending the night drinking together, Blaster disappearing off at some point and leaving the two very much alone together. Much, much later, Prowl had noticed the time and their intoxicated state, and had insisted that they return to their quarters on base. It was only when Prowl bid him goodnight that he realised he had genuinely enjoyed being in his company, and his absence left him feeling oddly alone.

His bunkmates were all already in recharge as he crept into his berth, quietly turning off his light as he curled up under his blanket. This whole fake dating thing was going to be easier than he thought!

* * *

Prowl’s evening had started off quietly enough. His younger brother Bluestreak had come up to visit now that both of his brothers were stationed in Iacon, and the three of them had decided (read: Smokescreen dragged Prowl out to a bar, Bluestreak had curiously followed) to go out and enjoy a drink together. Bluestreak was just barely of age, and Prowl had every intention of drinking just _one_ drink before taking Bluestreak back to his hotel and going back to base.

He had almost finished his drink when they noticed the pair sat at the table next to them. Prowl recognised both of them – Blaster he knew from past assignments, and Jazz he recognised from his orientation. His doorwings twitched in curiosity. He had no idea the two knew each other.

“Do you know those two?” Smokescreen asked as he downed the last dregs of his drink.

“Somewhat.” Prowl replied, doorwings flicking dismissively.

“Either of them pique your interest?” Smokescreen wiggled his eyebrows at him, shit eating grin on his face. It was a half serious question – he knew that Prowl _hated_ it when he did this, and he never missed the chance to annoy Prowl. It was his duty as an elder brother.

“Smokescreen-” Prowl began, but trailed off as their attention turned back to the pair at the table next to them.

Bluestreak and Smokescreen’s mouths dropped open as the visored mech mentioned Prowl’s name, Prowl’s doorwings shooting upwards in shock as his optics flashed in surprise. Smokescreen slowly turned to look at Prowl, smiling wildly.

“Oh, _Prowl_! No wonder you didn’t want to come tonight!”

“What’s his name?” Bluestreak curiously asked.

“Jazz.” Prowl stood, chair scraping. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He moved almost as if on autopilot. He didn’t know what to do. What was an appropriate response to this?! They hadn’t ever spoken outside of their group orientation. He didn’t even know what division Jazz worked in. He could hear Bluestreak and Smokescreen whispering to each other at the edge of his vision, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying over the ambient noise of the bar and the music.

He leaned in next to Jazz, placing his hand on the table, and swallowed hard.

* * *

Smokescreen had ended up leaving with Bluestreak.

It was late when Prowl got back to the base with Jazz, much much later than he had originally intended on returning. It was a testament to just how much he had enjoyed his evening.

Prowl didn’t expect it when Jazz had suddenly grabbed his hand and squeezed it as they parted on base. His hand felt strangely cold.

“Ah’ll see ya tomorrow!” Jazz called to him with a wave as he walked away, heading towards his quarters. Prowl hesitantly waved back.

His quarters were empty as he lay on his berth. As specially designed quarters for Praxian build mechs, there were no other bunkmates to speak of, and so he felt no shame or fear of being caught as he grabbed his pillow and buried his face into it.

He hoped he didn’t fall too deeply into their charade.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man you guys really like fake dating AU's huh

A groon had gone by, and so far no one had suspected a _thing_.

The pair had made a habit of meeting at least once a week, either for a game, or for their daily ration of energon. If they crossed paths in the halls, Jazz would give a cheeky wave, or if he was feeling particularly daring and Prowl’s team was around, he’d blow him a kiss. Prowl was so incredibly easy to fluster, and when Jazz looked over his shoulder at him to watch him walk away, he could see his doorwings flicking and twitching like mad.

Oh, so cute.

Prowl would always return the wave, but never the kiss.

He’d come around eventually.

Jazz was in the rec room when Smokescreen finally cornered him. He’d been trying for at least a decacycle now, but Jazz was better than that, and had always managed to give him the slip. But today, it seemed his luck had run out.

“So, you’re the elusive Jazz.” Smokescreen said from behind him. Jazz jumped, whirling around to face someone who was almost identical to Prowl in silhouette, however colour, stance, and face? Couldn’t be more different. The Praxian mech sniffed, almost looming over Jazz. The shorter Polyhexian found himself having to lean back slightly. Primus, personal space clearly did not matter to this mech!

“That’s me. Who’s askin’?” Jazz asked as he took a step back. Nope, no thank you! Too close!

“Smokescreen.” The mech replied, holding out his hand. “Prowls older sibling.”

“Oh!” Jazz exclaimed as he eagerly grabbed it and shook it. “You’re the gamblin’ guy! Say, ain’t that risky? Ain’t Prowler ex-enforcer?”

“ _Prowler_? You’re onto nicknames already?”

“He hates it.”

“So you use it at every opportunity?”

“It’ll grow on him.”

“Like a rash.” Prowl cut in, the pair jumping and turning, not realising that Prowl had appeared. “You’re needed.” He said, presenting his sibling with a datapad. Smokescreen onlined it and whistled.

“Looks important. Well, Jazz, it was a delight to finally meet you. Best be off. Don’t do anything silly, you too!” and with that, he sauntered out, lazily reading the datapad Prowl had given him.

“Are ya both in tactical, then?” Jazz asked.

“Different areas, but yes.” Prowl replied. “Do you have time to drink together?”

“For ya? Absolutely.” Jazz winked at him. Prowls doorwings twitched.

* * *

Jazz was learning new things about Prowl every day.

At first, he had figured that Prowl didn’t like going out much because it was just the way he was – a homebody, as it were, preferring the quiet and calm over the loud and boisterous. It was only when he accidentally dropped something behind Prowl and made the mech jump high enough to almost smack his head onto the ceiling that he discovered that Prowls doorwings were particularly sensitive to loud noises. It made him excellent at detecting things from behind, but it had its downsides too. Jazz had hastily apologised, quickly kneeling down to put the spilled contents back inside. Prowl had waved him off, kneeling down beside him to help.

“It happens.”

“Can ya not dial the sensors down? Ah’m the same with these,” Jazz tapped his audial horns, “but Ah dial them down so Ah can stand ta be in the same room as other mechs breathin’.”

“I can,” Prowl replied with a slight inclination of his head, “however it can become uncomfortable over long periods of time, and it becomes difficult to adjust them back to their original levels.”

“Harder to filter out the white noise?”

“Precisely.”

“Ah.” Jazz frowned. “That’s a shame. A real cool bar opened up not too far away, apparently it’s Praxian themed.”

Prowls doorwings perked up in curiosity. “Praxian themed?”

“Yeah! Like, with your speciality engex, an’ crystals, an’ music.”

“I believe I can make an exception for one night.”

“Ah’ll ping ya the details, then! When are ya next free?”

Prowl paused for a moment and his optics dimmed as he checked his calendar. “I’m free this weekend, curiously enough.”

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Jazz bounced on his pedes. “Me too!”

“Did you meddle with our shifts again?”

“Amazin’ly it was not me this time.”

“Hmm.” Prowl’s doorwings flicked upwards in curiosity. “I wonder.”

“Ya don’ think...” Jazz slowly looked up at him, pausing in placing the spilled objects back in the box.

Prowl slowly looked back.

“They wouldn’t.”

“They would, they’ve done it for ‘Raj an’ Hound.”

Prowl’s face flushed, doorwings drooping down as he pressed his lips together into a thin line. “That is oddly embarrassing.”

“Do ya think we should tone it down a lil’?”

“That may only be more suspicious.” Prowl tapped his bottom lip. “As bad as I feel for tricking others like this, if we tone it down now they may suspect we’re having issues, and try harder.”

“That’s true.” Jazz rubbed his face with his hands. “So this weekend?”

“I’ll meet you by the entrance.” Prowl said, placing the last of the spilled objects into the box.

“It’s a date!” Jazz winked at him, hoisting the box back up and holding it securely.

He missed the way Prowls face turned bright pink, doorwings hiking upwards into a sharp v.

* * *

The Praxian themed bar was _definitely_ Praxian, Jazz thought as they walked in. They certainly delivered on their promise of it being like Praxus away from home – Prowl looked like a youngling in a sweet shop, doorwings twitching and trembling, optics bright like stars. Jazz couldn’t help but watch him as he looked around.

There were only a handful of other mechs in there – the bar had only just opened for the night, and the pair of them had only just gotten off shift. No doubt the other Praxians on the base would be joining them soon.

While Prowl was busy admiring a crystal cluster on the bar, Jazz turned his attention towards the drinks menu. He flipped it over. And back again. And over again.

He didn’t understand a _single word_ of it. It took him a moment to realise that it was a totally different language, and it caught him completely off guard.

“Prowl?” Jazz quietly hissed, pointing wildly at the menu. “What is this?!”

Prowl leaned over his shoulder to peer down at the menu. If it were even possible, his optics brightened further. “That’s native Praxian, it’s our language. Shall I ask for a translated menu?”

“Ya have a different language?”

“Of course we do.” Prowl gestured for the bartender, another Praxian. Jazz watched in silent bewilderment as Prowl said… _something_ that bartender laughed at, before nodding and ducking down below the bar and presenting Jazz with a menu that he could read with an apology.

“We haven’t had many non Praxian patrons.” He explained with an apologetic smile.

“Nah, it’s fine!” Jazz rubbed the back of his helm. “Ah jus’ really wasn’ expectin’ it.”

He read through the menu. Every single item was of Praxian origin, and most of it he had never even heard of before, let alone tried. He suddenly felt extremely out of his depth.

“Do you want me to order something for you?” Prowl quietly asked him noticing the expression on Jazz’s face.

“Ah have no idea what Ah’d even like.”

“I’ll make a guess. Why don’t you go and find us somewhere to sit?”

Jazz immediately surveyed the area. They shouldn’t sit somewhere too close to the speakers – Prowl’s doorwings and his own audial horns would never forgive him. Being too close to the bar would also be annoying – it was a prime spot, and they’d be forever surrounded by others.

He eventually settled on a table in the corner – far away enough from sources of noise to be relatively comfortable, but close enough to the amenities to have easy access to everything and a good view of the room. Jazz wondered how much of his special ops side had an influence on his choice.

There were more menus on the table. He picked one up, staring intently at the foreign words as if willing them to magically change before his eyes.

“What’re you doing?” Prowl asked, sliding into the seat next to him and placing a brightly coloured cube in front of him.

“Ah wanna learn this.” Jazz announced, nose still pressed into the menu.

“You’re not going to learn it by staring at it.” Prowl laughed. “Here,” he shuffled to be closer to him, thighs almost touching, and presenting Jazz with the translated menu. “You’ll want this too.” He pointed to a word on the Praxian menu. “What do you think this means?”

“My guess is on ‘energon’ or ‘high grade’, it’s repeated a lot.”

“Good guess, it means ‘beverage’. We don’t distinguish between high grade or energon.”

“How can ya tell which is which?”

“The ingredients.”

Jazz playfully flicked Prowl in the shoulder. “Alrigh’, smart ass.”

The bar slowly filled as Jazz picked his way through the menu, Prowl correcting him along the way. Jazz correctly guessed what Prowl had ordered for him – literally translated, Green sunset beverage, and Prowl had been correct in that Jazz would like it. The two nursed their drinks, quietly enjoying the others company. Prowl seemed perfectly content enough to listen to the music, but Jazz wasn’t.

“Is this the music ya grew up with?”

“Yes.” Prowl replied, sipping his high grade. “The whole bar is extremely nostalgic, this is typically what entertainment spaces look like in Praxus.”

Jazz’s optics swept through the bar again. Lots of deep, rich reds, speckled with gold. Crystals on every available surface. Plush cushions on low backed chairs. Tapestries and fabrics adorning the walls.

“Praxus must be so beautiful.” Jazz found himself saying.

“It is.” Prowl placed his chin in his hand, fondly looking out at nowhere in particular. “I want to go back one day.”

“Maybe ya’ll get assigned ta Praxus eventually.”

“Praxus is a neutral state, they have no Autobot outpost within their boarders. It will be a leisure visit.”

“The way things are goin’, it wouldn’ surprise me if they eventually did.” Jazz frowned at the last dregs in his cube. He swiftly downed them. “Another? Ah’ll pay this time.”

“I will come with you.” Prowl said, making to stand.

“What if we lose our table?”

“I have it in good faith that this table has been reserved for us.” Prowl said, nodding towards the bartender. They caught their optics and he gave them a small bow. Prowl mirrored him.

Jazz lowly whistled. “Ya scary, mech.”

“I simply know how to talk.” Prowl replied.

There was a small queue at the bar, so the pair of them had time to study the menus. Prowl had taken the translated copy with them – it was far too early to get Jazz ordering off of it.

“What did ya get last time? This one?” Jazz asked, pointing at a drink.

“I did.”

“Hmm...” Jazz carefully studied the menu. “Ah wonder what ya’d like?”

“Do you wish to order for me?”

“Yeah! It’ll be fun.”

Jazz was too busy looking at the menu to notice how Prowls doorwings seemed to flutter in happiness.

While Jazz ordered, trying his best to order in the Praxian language and endearing himself so to the bartender and earning him a free drink, Prowl looked around the other patrons of the bar.

Praxian, praxian, praxian. Praxians everywhere. It felt oddly like home, if it weren’t for the somewhat substantial numbers of non-praxians in the bar too. His doorwings lazily flicked in surprise when he spotted a red and blue praxian with a yellow chevron. He should have known.

He turned and grabbed the bartenders attention as they handed Jazz their drinks, saying something too fast for Jazz to understand. The bartender nodded, and briefly disappeared behind a corner, returning moments later with a woven mesh basket in hand full of rust sticks.

“What’d ya get this for?” Jazz gestured to the gently glowing rust sticks.

“Look behind me, but do not make it obvious. We have company.”

Jazz was thankful for his visor making it harder for mechs to pinpoint exactly what he was looking at. He glanced over his shoulder, and spotted them.

A group of mechs from tactical – Jazz had seen many of them with Prowl before, they were likely his team – and Smokescreen. Of course, it’d be Smokescreen here too. They’d really have to keep their act up tonight.

“Oh.” Prowl quietly said. He was looking straight over Jazz’s shoulder, into the crystal behind him. “It looks like some mechs in your department are here too.”

Jazz glanced around them – Prowl could probably see the reflection in the crystal – and sure enough, by the door, there they were.

“Cheeky buggers.” Jazz grumbled, taking a sip from his cube.

“I feel we will be under much scrutiny.” Prowl took a rust stick and offered it to Jazz. “Take it.”

Jazz did as told.

They sat back down at their table again, backs facing the wall. Jazz appraised the rust stick he’d been given.

“What’s the significance of this?”

“Simply a gift. Typically, those dating in Praxus will give each other edible goods. They have other more traditional Praxian snacks here, but rust sticks are a much safer bet.”

“Ooh. Ah’ll have ta keep an eye out, then.” Jazz popped it into his mouth, sucking on it like an oddly shaped lolly pop.

“Oh, Primus.” Prowl slapped a hand over his face in embarrassment. “Do you have to maintain optic contact as you do that?”

“Absolutely.” Jazz said around it.

* * *

They’d been there long enough to have had more cubes between them than they’d like to admit. Jazz had made it a personal challenge to make it through every single drink on the menu, but Prowl had quickly put a stop to that particular endeavour.

Jazz absently stirred his drink with a rust stick, watching the dance floor. Prowl looked between the two with fear. Please, no. _Please_. Not with his brother watching!

“What kinda dance is that?” Jazz asked.

“It is a Praxian one, if that is what you are asking.” He replied. “It’s not particularly special, simply one we do at social gatherings.”

“Ya have special dances?”

“We do.” He risked a glance at Jazz. He was looking at him like a puppy, visor bright and almost glistening with his overcharge. “No. I am not dancing.”

“Please?”

“My brother’s here.”

“Pleeeaaase?”

“I am far too overcharged.”

“Spoil sport.”

“I fear for your physical integrity.” Prowl finished what was left of his drink. “I much prefer you untarnished by my two left feet.”

“Naaw~” Jazz gently tapped him on the nose. “Ya so sweet ta me.”

“Drink.” Prowl ordered, holding his cube up to his face. Jazz batted his hands away and drank, finishing his drink. He stuck the rust stick into his mouth, sucking on it again. Prowl rolled his optics at him.

“You’re the worst. Come on, I am taking you home.”

They waved to the bartender as they left, Jazz clinging onto Prowl for balance.

“Ah think Ah drank way too much.” He laughed. “Ya stuff is so sweet but so potent.”

“I did warn you.”

“The world is spinnin’.”

“And you wanted to dance.”

“How come ya fine?” Jazz huffed in thinly veiled jealousy.

“Because I both paced myself and didn’t drink as much as you did.”

“Ah was too excited about new things.” he whined.

“It was extremely endearing.”

Jazz’s hand slipped down Prowls arm, gently teasing the cabling at his wrist, and intertwined their fingers.

“You know you don’t have to.” Prowl quietly whispered to him.

“Ya brother left after us.” Jazz quietly whispered back. “Ah ain’t far gone enough ta not watch ya back.”

Prowl trusted him enough to not look back to check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worry not, the boys shall dance. Just not this time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your love for this is giving me life ;u; also updating tags to reflect fluff, I have finally achieved fluff! Oh my goodness! Unfortunately, this chapter isn’t too fluffy, the original was actually far less fluffy and I made the decision to re-write it and put some things which were originally in the next chapter in here, which felt weird considering I am the ‘no beta we die as we lived!’ type of person, ha. The next chapter is a bit better though, I hope!

Tactical was ablaze with life, mechs swarming the department. Mecha were rushing about with datapads and maps, quickly organising the room into something workable.

They’d detected Decepticon activity near the boarder, and just a joor earlier they’d received notice that they were bringing lots and lots of heavy equipment. Whatever they were planning, it couldn’t be good. Even worse; they had absolutely no intel on what they were planning, and so Special Ops were dispatched.

Prowl settled into his usual spot, pulling up his battle simulations. For now, he was running on assumptions they’d gained from the images sent to them by scouts, but he was hoping that the Special Ops team they’d dispatched would be able to send him something a little more substantial to work with. If things did take a turn for the worse, they’d need to be ready for it.

“Hey, you’re Prowl, right?”

Prowl looked up to another mech, enforcer decals still on his frame.

“That is correct. Who am I speaking with?”

“Streetwise. Listen, we can have a proper introduction later, they need you over in Ops.”

“Ops?” Prowl pinged his terminal to log off and shut down as he stood. “What do they need me for?”

“Something about your processor.” Streetwise replied, quickly walking towards the small room Special Ops used for their tactical department. “Turns out this is more crunchy than we’d initially thought, and they need something powerful and fast.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly favourable.” Prowl frowned. “Who’s on the team?”

“Mirage, Bumblebee, and Jazz.” He counted them off on his fingers. “Oh! Don’t worry,” he said, patting Prowl on the shoulder. “Jazz’s really good, he’ll be fine!”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

“Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t, ay?” Streetwise playfully nudged him, wiggling his eyebrows. Prowl simply responded with a cold look. “Alright, alright, my bad. Good luck.” Streetwise threw their hands up in surrender and walked away, returning to their terminal. Prowl took a deep breath and knocked on the door, entering when he was asked.

“Why hello there, Prowl.” Smokescreen grinned at him. “Don’t get distracted, now. Communications are recorded.”

Prowl gave him a filthy look. “Where am I going?”

Smokescreen pointed to the seat next to him. “Put on the headphones and tell me what you make of this.” He pointed to the screen. Three different cameras were shown, with names in the bottom right hand side. Bumblebee, Jazz, Mirage. “Wheeljack here’s pretty confident that we can just blow it up, but I wanted you to get in on this first so we can avoid blowing up the unknown technology.”

Wheeljack made a displeased noise from the corner, headfins flashing. “I’ve guessed it to be a short range tank-type weapon.”

“Why is he here?” Prowl asked.

“They’ve got some of my experimental weapons, and I wanted to watch the footage.” Wheeljack replied.

“Enough of that, sit, sit. We haven’t the time.” Smokescreen scolded, grabbing his brother by the shoulders and turning him around, herding him towards the terminal and screens.

“Body cameras?” Prowl asked as he slid into the seat and put on the headphones.

“Yup.” Smokescreen replied. “They’re a little grimy, you missed it but they had to crawl through some nasty stuff to get into a safe position. It’s as good as we’re going to get visuals-wise until they get back and we can take Jazz’s visor data.”

“He can record using it?”

“He hasn’t told us everything that it does, but yes, it can.”

Prowl made a mental note to ask Jazz more about that. “Can he hear us right now?”

“Not yet, you’ll have to press that button there.” Smokescreen said, pointing to a blue button on the dash in front of them. “Now, ready whenever you are.”

Prowl swallowed hard. He hadn’t quite expected _this_ when he woke up this morning. He’d completed Ops missions as a tactician in mock games, and in simulations. It was something he very much did _not_ enjoy doing in real time – in the time it took his processor to run through every single eventuality, his team would have guns pressed to their foreheads. He was far, far better at creating the plans ahead of time, and letting someone _else_ do the improvisation.

Steeling his nerves, he pressed the button. He’d just have to trust them.

“This is Prowl speaking. What is your status?”

“Oh, Prowler!” Jazz replied. In the corner of Mirages camera, Prowl could see Jazz physically move to have his chin in his hands, grin threatening to split his face in half. “Ah didn’ know ya were an Ops tactician!”

“I am not, however they are in need of a piece of my hardware. Are you in a safe position?”

Jazz’s smile turned downright _devious_. “Oh?” His voice dripped with something that made Prowls doorwings shudder.

“Jazz, you are not alone on this line.” Smokescreen piped up, laughter bleeding into his voice. “Come on. Game face on, please.”

“Ma bad, ma bad.”

“We are hidden for now,” Mirage replied, Bumblebee having buried his face into the ground out of second hand embarrassment, “however I cannot say for how long. Their scouts haven’t found us yet, however if they were to use a drone or a low laying flyer, we’d be spotted.”

“I need you to get closer to that weapon.” Prowl replied. “Are any of you able to do that?”

“’Raj?” Jazz prompted. He made a flurry of hand signs. Mirage made a few back, visible in Jazz’s body camera. Prowl watched in bewilderment. Smokescreen leaned over and pressed the button again, disabling their microphones. “They developed a sign language to use in the field – only those three know it, and they’re refusing to teach anyone else.” He explained. “So please, do not ask me about it.”

“You sound as if it’s a common problem.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I’ll talk to him about it.” Prowl nodded.

“So,” Jazz said, settling himself down comfortably, laying as flat as he possibly could on the floor. “’Raj can get close, but the ground’s a lil’ bit churned up. It’ll be difficult for him to remain hidden for long.”

“Mirage has a stealth ability?”

“Of sorts.”

Prowl went silent for a moment, crunching the data with his battle computer. Smokescreen silently watched him and the screens, optics flicking between the two.

“Mirage, I’d like it if you could get closer and give us a better look. While you’re at it, an inventory from everyone, please.”

“Standard blaster, 100% charged. Two flash grenades. Three real grenades.” Bumblebee promptly replied.

“’Raj has the same, plus two EMP grenades.” Jazz replied. “He can’t reply righ’ now. Ah have a specialised rifle, 100% charged, two flash grenades, and a special grenade from Wheeljack.”

Prowl slowly turned to look at Wheeljack. Wheeljack slowly turned to look back.

“You gave him _what_.” Prowl had been under the impression that the ‘experimental weaponary’ was a _gun_ , not something designed to _explode_!

Wheeljack held up both hands. “It was a custom order! It’s perfectly safe. Prime approved and all!”

“Easy, Prowler, it’s fine. It packs an extra punch.”

“I am well aware of Wheeljacks reputation for _disaster_.” Prowl coldly replied. “Has it ever been field tested before?”

Jazz was silent for a bit too long. Prowl pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay. Fine. Mirage, can you hear me? I want you to tap your microphone twice if you can.”

Two taps.

“When I say run, I want you to attach a grenade to the bottom of the weapon, and I want you to _run. Fast_. Two taps if you understand.”

Two taps again..

“Jazz, I want you to put that grenade inside it. Doesn’t matter where.”

“The barrel of the cannon would be good!” Wheeljack piped up from behind him.

“Did you get that?”

“Ah did! Into the cannon. Armed?”

“Naturally.”

“Prowl,” Smokescreen tapped his shoulder for his attention. “I’ll take it from here now, I need to coordinate our teams. Thanks.”

Prowl nodded, and made to take off his headphones. Smokescreen grabbed onto his arm. “No, stay until the end.”

* * *

The grenade packed enough of a punch to launch Jazz high enough to break his arm.

Wheeljack had sprinted away the second he saw Prowls face, calling back that he was off to go and help Ratchet prepare the medical bay.

“Don’t go all Praxian on him.” Smokescreen laughed at him. “You’ll get a reputation!” Prowl bristled in embarrassment, but kept his mouth shut.

Prowl went to meet them at the entrance to the base. Mirage and, bless him, Bumblebee both supported Jazz as they staggered back into the base. A hastily put together splint kept his arm in one piece.

“Heya, Prowler!” Jazz cheerily called, waving with his good arm. Prowl descended upon them in a flurry of concern.

“Are you alright? All of you?” He asked, although he only looked at Jazz.

“Surface wounds.” Mirage shrugged. “We have faired worse at the hands of Wheeljack.”

“Ratchet’s waiting for you.” Prowl said, making to walk with them.

“Hold up, Prowl!” Smokescreen called, running into the hallway. “They can get themselves there, you’re wanted back at tactical.”

“Go on, cutie. Ah’ll see ya later.” Jazz chirped. Mirage smacked him upside the helm.

Prowl looked somewhat conflicted, optics on Jazz’s bleeding arm and bleeding body and-

He shook himself. “I will come and visit when you are no longer delirious.”

Jazz finger gunned with his good hand and clicked his tongue.

“I want what he’s having.” Smokescreen said, herding Prowl away.

“What could tactical possibly want me for?” Prowl asked when they were further away. “Am I in trouble?”

“Not at all.” Smokescreen replied. “I take all responsibility for the injuries this time. However, the CTO wants to have a chat.”

Prowl felt himself freeze up. “The _chief tactical officer_?”

“Don’t be so scared. He’s a wuss, if you were in trouble he’d make someone else do it. He’d probably make _me_ do it.”

“Why does he want to talk to me?”

Smokescreen shrugged. “Probably about you stepping in to help us Op’s guys today. Debriefing, pep talk, that kind of stuff. He could easily make me do it, but he likes to give the nice news himself. Makes mecha like him.”

As it turned out, Prowl wasn’t in trouble, Quite the opposite, actually.

Prowl left the CTO’s office feeling numb, yet somewhat giddy. He was being transferred to the Special Operations tactical team, and as of tomorrow, his training would begin.

He _had_ to tell Jazz.

* * *

Jazz was still slightly delirious, and Prowl learned that he’d apparently hit his helm hard enough to shake some circuits. Despite him being physically fine – his arm was appropriately welded and braced together, abrasions on his frame sufficiently patched over, and other gashes and rips and tears welded shut – Ratchet had made the decision to keep him in overnight.

“He’s far too loopy to release into the base.” Ratchet had told him, arms folded over his chest. “A good nights rest will do.” He pointedly looked at him. _No excitement, please._

He’d have to hold off on the news, then.

Jazz looked positively beside himself with delight when Prowl peered around the curtain surrounding his berth. Ratchet had put it up just so Jazz wouldn’t get distracted by every little thing in the room, as he had a tendency to, and would stand a chance of actually recharging.

“Prowler~!”

“How’re you feeling?” Prowl asked, sliding into the chair next to him.

“So much better now that ya here.”

“You flatter me.”

“Nah, serious!” Jazz leaned against him, resting his helm on his shoulder. “Give yaself some credit.”

“Does it hurt?”

“A bit.” Jazz turned to inspect his arm, firmly welded into place so he couldn’t move it. “But it’s okay, it was fun.”

“Please do not do that ever again.” Prowl sighed. “I think I almost had a spark attack...”

Jazz was awfully quiet. Prowl glanced down, and saw that his visor was offline, and he was gently breathing.

Recharging.

Gently, he placed him back onto the berth and tucked him in, gently arranging the blanket to not rub against the still sensitive and raw wound on his arm.

As he quietly left, he missed Jazz’s good hand reaching out to where Prowl had been, grasping at the air fruitlessly, as if looking for something.

* * *

It was ridiculous, really.

Prowl couldn’t recharge. It just wasn’t happening. He sighed in frustration, rubbing his optics with the meat of his palms. Why, why, why?!

Jazz. Jazz was why.

He hated that he heard – and saw – everything. The awful angle his arm had been wrenched at as he landed, the pained sound that escaped him. But what he hated more was that it wasn’t even anything _new_ to him. He’d heard the sounds of others in absolute agony before, plenty of times in fact. It came in the territory of being in the army. It happened. Sometimes he was the _reason_ it happened.

But Jazz was the only one he couldn’t forget about.

With a huff, he threw his legs over the side of the berth and sat up. He toyed with the idea of going to see Jazz in the medical bay – it’d be closed now, the doors locked with a silent alarm overnight. He didn’t know who the medic on shift was. Maybe First Aid? Or would it be Hot Spot? He just didn’t know.

But maybe seeing him would be enough to help him recharge. Safe, sound, and hopefully in recharge himself. Just the thought of it helped him relax a little, and it sealed the deal in his mind. He’d go and take a peek. Just a little one.

Prowl didn’t encounter anyone on his walk down to the medical bay, which he was partly thankful for, but partly concerned about. Just where were the night patrol?

He delicately knocked twice on the doors to the medical bay. A blurred face approached from behind the frosted glass.

“Hello?” They called.

“Good evening.” Prowl replied, mentally flailing wildly for an excuse. He didn’t really think this far ahead. “I was wondering if you had anything to help with recharging? I’m finding it difficult to tonight.”

“Oh! Of course, just a second.” They unlocked the doors, opening them to admit Prowl, blue visor softly brightening. “I was told you may come, tacticians on their first Ops mission often cannot recharge unassisted after.”

“Oh?”

“They didn’t mention that to you? Ugh, what do I say _every time_...” They grumbled, opening a drawer and taking out a small bottle. He quickly scrawled something onto the label and handed it to Prowl. “Here. One a night for every night you need it. And only take it if you really need to! Mechs tend to get hooked on them if they abuse them.” Prowl took it and read the label – his name had been scrawled on, along with that days date. It had been signed by a mech called First Aid.

Ah, Prowl thought. So _this_ is what he looked like.

“Actually, while I’m here...” Prowl trailed off, but First Aid thankfully seemed to get the hint. He gestured behind him.

“Go ahead! Just please do not wake him up.”

“I will do my best.” Prowl gratefully replied, slipping past him and approaching the curtain. He slowly peeled it backwards, peering in.

Sure enough, Jazz was in deep recharge.

Prowl slipped into the seat next to him. He could vaguely hear First Aid moving around in the medical bay, adjusting the supplies inside the cupboard and sitting in a somewhat squeaky chair at the terminal, fingers softly clicking away on the keyboard as he typed up reports.

Heavy. He felt heavy. Slowly, he leaned forwards, crossing his arms underneath his helm as he leaned against Jazz’s berth, optics shuttering offline.

Sleepy. So sleepy.

It was a joor until First Aid realised he didn’t see Prowl leave, and when he went to investigate, found the two of them deep in recharge, Prowl leaning against the berth, and Jazz curled up in such a way that it almost looked like Prowls helm was in his lap.

… He couldn’t find it in himself to break them apart. He simply dimmed the lights, and returned to his terminal.


	4. Chapter 4

It was the medical bay lights turning on that woke him up.

Prowl groggily onlined his optics, finding himself face-to-face with Jazz, visor still offline, ex-vents gently ghosting across his face.

His doorwings flew up in surprise, his optics widening. Had he fallen asleep here? Why hadn’t First Aid woken him up and kicked him out?

_Ugh_. Prowl grimaced, his back twinging. That hadn’t been great for his wings. But, he thought, looking back at Jazz, being able to wake up with him had been worth it. He knew he was safe, that he was okay, and the screaming in his head had stopped. Nothing disastrous had happened to him overnight. Everything was going to be fine.

He slowly pushed himself up, careful to not wake him, and slipped away, brushing past the curtain.

Ratchet looked up at him with surprise, almost jumping out of his skin. “Prowl?!”

“Good morning, Ratchet.” Prowl simply greeted, doorwings dipping down for a moment before returning to their usual position. Ratchet looked between him and the curtained berth he’d just left as Prowl strode out of the medical bay.

“What in the...” Ratchet rubbed his forehead. Strange, strange mech.

* * *

Jazz was in the worst of moods.

He wasn’t allowed to do _anything_ that involved physical activity. No missions, obviously, but also no patrols, no sparring, no exercise, no dancing, no _nothing_. But what did it mean? Reports, reports, reports, and just to spice it up a little; _more reports_.

He whined like a spoiled sparkling, face down on the table in the rec room. Blaster patted him on the back.

There, there.

“Ah can’t even go an’ get viciously overcharged!” Jazz whined, kicking his feet. “It’ll mess with the meds.”

“Mech, ya just need another hobby.” Blaster replied. “Ah can send ya my mixtapes?”

“Please.”

He felt like he was going to go stir crazy. He was frequently busy in the training room, sparring and constantly refining his technique. He loved going on patrol around the city and along the boarder. He went on missions almost every two weeks.

And yet here he was, suddenly bound to the base, because his arm was temporarily detached from his body.

_Great_.

“What’s Prowl up to?”

“Ah don’ know.” Jazz miserably replied.

Blaster looked aghast. “Oh no! Ya didn’ break up, did ya?”

“Wha’? No!” It was Jazz’s turn to look aghast. “He’s just busy.”

“Hmm.” Blaster looked thoughtful. “Ah’ll see if Ah can figure it out.” He stood, downing the rest of his cube. Jazz made a curious noise. “Ah’ll ping ya the mixtapes.”

“Please don’ leave me!”

“Sorry, mech, duty calls.” Blaster gave him a mock salute. “And so does yours. Weren’t you meant to go to tactical?” He leaned in, mock whispering. “Where Prowl is?”

Jazz perked up at that. Ah. Yes, that was most certainly true. That _was_ where Prowl was. He’d be able to watch the mech at work!

Mood somewhat boosted at the thought of being able to see his friend, Jazz finished his cube and hummed the whole way down to tactical.

Smokescreen immediately beckoned him into the Special Operations centre, not giving Jazz a chance to prance around tactical proper and hunt down his favourite black and white. Not willing to give Smokescreen a reason to dislike him, Jazz had slunk after him, throwing a longing look over his shoulder.

“Hoping to see Prowl?” Smokescreen teased.

“That obvious?”

“Extremely. It’s almost endearing.”

“How is he?”

“He’s getting on well! He should finish his training in a couple days, which is _insane_.” Smokescreen pouted. “I wish I had the processor he did.”

“Trainin’? What trainin’?”

Smokescreens doorwings shot up in surprise. “You mean he hasn’t told you?”

“Told me wha’?”

Smokescreen seemed to be weighing his choices. “He’s taking on more tactical training.”

“He’s training as an Ops tactician?”

Smokescreen whistled. “You’re smarter than you let on.”

“Nah, sharper.” Jazz quipped back. “Ah leave the smarty pants stuff ta ‘Jack or Percy. So, Prowler’s gonna be my new tactician?”

Smokescreen snorted with laughter. “You’re far too happy about that. I hate to break it to you, but no, he isn’t. You’re too good a team for a rookie.”

“He wasn’t too bad for a first timer.”

“Granted, but Prime’s orders.” Smokescreen shrugged. He pushed open the door at the end of the hallway, gesturing for Jazz to enter before him. “Nothing we can do about it. Anyway, to business. We’ve lovingly set this room aside for you to work in – as I understand it, Special Ops doesn’t really have any offices for those who aren’t the officer, right?” He gestured to the room. It was sparsely decorated, featuring only a circular table in the middle of the room, terminals at every other seat. A series of filing cabinets covered the far wall.

“Tha’ is correct.”

“So us at tactical have lots of spare rooms, and this is the one we’ve allocated to you folks at Ops should you need it. It is in the Special Operations Tactical area for a reason. Please do not touch the terminal in that corner,” Smokescreen pointed to the right corner as they walked in, “it will set off an alarm and we will have to call Ultra Magnus to shut it off and he will be oh so very cross with you.”

“Ah don’ think Ah can survive another Magnus lecture so soon.” Jazz grimaced. As part of their induction, they’d had to sit through a presentation presented by Ultra Magnus. They were legendary for a reason, Jazz had discovered. It was a memory that would only remain with him as means of a warning to never put himself in position for such a lecture ever, _ever_ again.

“Oh yes, of course, he gave your induction, didn’t he?” Smokescreen pulled a face. “You poor, poor things. I had Wheeljack give mine. Much more interesting. He made things explode. Anyway!” He clapped Jazz on the shoulder on his good side. “This will be your new home until you get yourself cleared by Ratchet. Feel free to hang up some bunting to make it more homey. It’ll just be you for now, but if any of your coworkers need to write any reports, they’ll come and join you in here.”

“Is there anythin’ else Ah can’t touch?”

“Uhhh...” Smokescreen crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling. “… the ceiling. You’d be surprised, but I have to say this. Please do not interfere with the integrity of the ceiling. But otherwise, no. Just that terminal in the corner.”

“Ah’ll put an angry Magnus face on it ta remind me.”

“Good mech. Come find me if you’ve got any other questions.”

Smokescreen quickly left, leaving Jazz on his own.

The room was awfully quiet.

He slid into the seat, dragging himself across it, just to make noise.

He could hear mechs talking outside. The gentle hum of the base’s heating system. The soft clicking of the mechanisms inside the terminals in the room.

Jazz onlined one, lazily typing in his login information. It chimed as it accepted is credentials, slowly loading his account.

There was a soft knock at the door, and a familiar face poked their head in.

“Jazz? Smokescreen told me you were here.”

“Prowler!” Jazz excitedly leapt to his feet.

“I thought I’d come and join you.” Prowl sheepishly admitted. “I know how bored you get when left to your own devices.”

“Aww, so sweet of you.” Jazz teased. Prowl sat at the terminal next to him, taking a stack of datapads out of his subspace. Jazz whistled.

“Hmm?”

“That’s a lot a’ pads.”

“There is a lot of work.” Prowl replied. “How’re you feeling? How is your arm?”

“Ma arm’s sore but there’s not much ya can really do abou’ that.” Jazz replied. “Personally Ah am simply _wounded_ tha’ ya didn’ tell me ya were training as an Ops tactician.”

“The opportunity never arose.” Prowl frowned. “Whenever I went to visit you in the medical bay, you were either unconscious or high as a kite.”

“Excuses, excuses.” Jazz tapped Prowl on the nose with a soft ‘boop!’. “Ah’m glad ya came ta visit me, though.”

“You’re welcome, although I am beginning to regret my decision.”

Jazz mock wheezed, clutching his chest. “Ya killin’ me, mech.”

Prowl smirked at his terminal screen, looking extremely pleased with himself.

With Prowl there, it was surprisingly easier to work. Jazz flew through his report, carefully typing up every detail of his… _accident_ , and ensuring the schematics he got from Wheeljack were attached.

But, as soon as he hit enter and it was done and yet another thing that needed to be done popped up, all motivation abandoned him. Jazz slowly sank down to lay face down on the table, groaning into the metal.

“Are you okay?” Prowl asked, pausing in his own work.

“Ah can’t concentrate.” Jazz whined.

“What usually helps you focus?”

“Doin’ things with my whole body.”

“Ah.” Prowl’s doorwings tilted downwards. “That is most unfortunate.”

“Ain’t it.”

Prowl looked at him thoughtfully. “Actually, I’ve just received a package from my brother. Would you like to help me with it?”

“But Ah can’t carry anythin’.” Jazz gestured to his arm. “How can Ah help?”

“Carrying it is fine, I can handle that.” Prowl replied. “It’s what’s _inside_. When does your shift finish?”

Jazz checked his chronometer. “About a joor.”

Prowls optics dimmed as he checked his own. “Meet me at my quarters about a joor after your shift finishes.”

* * *

The carrot of seeing Prowl after his shift was enough to get Jazz through the final joor. He quickly dashed off to the washracks to freshen up a little before meeting up with him. He didn’t know why – it was only _Prowl_ , for Primus’s sake – but he told himself it was because he still stank of the medical bay and his cast was itchy, that a good old scrub would make him feel better.

A little bit of wax couldn’t hurt either, he supposed.

Jazz ended up having to have a healthy jog to Prowls quarters, having spent longer than he’d intended in the washrack. He gave himself a quick glance over before knocking, nervously waiting for Prowl to answer.

“Sorry Ah’m late.” Jazz said as soon as the door opened, Prowl promptly answering. “It was a bit hard ta get m’self clean...” Jazz sheepishly gestured to his arm.

“You can ask if you want help next time.” Prowl replied, stepping aside to let him in.

“Ah don’t wanna force ya.” Jazz replied as he took in the room. “Ah still can’t believe that ya the only mech in here. _So_ unfair.”

Prowl smugly shrugged.

“Ah’m comin’ over for a sleepover.” Jazz threatened as he sat on a random berth. “Ah’m sleepin’ right here.” He patted the soft mesh of the duvet. “Primus! Luxury! Ya even got foam pillows! This is so unfair!”

“They’re not there for the sake of it.” Prowl replied, doorwings flicking. “Unfortunately, your berth would be much too harsh on my back for long term use, so these pillows are a must.”

“Ah ain’t leavin’. Ah’m never leavin’.” Jazz sighed as he swung his legs up and relaxed into the berth, slowly sinking in to the plush bedding.

“They’ll think we’re up to something.” Prowl replied, pulling a box out from the storage unit at the end of his berth.

“They’re meant to think we’re up to something.” Jazz dreamily replied.

“I suppose that is true.” Prowl acknowledged. “Here.” He held out his hands, five small packages in his palms. “Pick one.”

Jazz plucked all five, laying them out in a line on the berth. He sat with his legs crossed, considering his choices. He chewed on his bottom lip, deep in thought.

“These are crystal seeds, righ’?”

“That is correct.”

Jazz hummed, scanning his hand over them, as if searching for something to speak to him. He stopped at the fourth package, picking it. “This one.”

Prowl took the remaining four back, and handed Jazz another box.

“This is everything you’ll need to care for it, should you choose to.”

“Wait, Ah’m keepin’ this?”

“Of course.” Prowl replied. “You needed something to do to help you focus on your work, correct? It doesn’t involve your whole body, but it is something to busy yourself with.”

Jazz held the little package and the box close to his chest, visor brightening and almost seeming to sparkle. “Oh, Prowler...”

“How about I show you how to pot the seed?”

The two of them sat on the floor in his quarters, Prowl walking Jazz through the process, and letting him pot a crystal. Amethyst, Prowl told him. It would grow up to be an amethyst. How big it got depended entirely on what pot it was in, and how often and how much Prowl fed it.

“What did Ah take?” Jazz asked, peering curiously at the package.

“It’s a type of crystal where its colours and characteristics depend entirely on how you care for it.” Prowl replied. He opened his mouth as if to continue, doorwings twitching, but his mouth snapped shut as he ultimately decided not to continue, face glowing slightly red for a moment. “Don’t worry about what it looks like, it is simply a reflection of your own method of care. It could be fun, should the opportunity arise, to grow another one of these crystals when you have had more practice. It is interesting to see the difference.”

“Have ya ever grown one’a these before, then?”

“Many.” Prowl replied. “I like seeing what different combinations and methods of care produce.”

“That’s so cool...” Jazz placed his chin into his hands. “Are they back in Praxus?”

“I dare say my collection is where these seeds came from.” Prowl picked up another package, holding a seed that looked strikingly similar to the one Jazz had chosen. “Bluestreak asked me if I wanted the seeds to start another collection here in Iacon, and I figured it couldn’t hurt. I’m sure the Praxian bar wouldn’t say no if I were to donate any.”

“Ah bet they’d look good around the base.” Jazz replied. “It’d be so pretty ta have crystals here.”

Jazz helped him pot a handful more crystals, Prowl placing the rest of his seeds back into the box and into his storage unit, saying that he’d keep them for another round. Crystals rarely bore seeds, so it was worth collecting and keeping whatever one could. Jazz subspaced his own seed and materials, the two heading down to the rec room for their evening ration before bidding the other goodnight and heading back to their own quarters to recharge.

* * *

Prowl sat on his berth, hands clasped in front of him, as he tried to organise his thoughts.

Jazz had waltzed in, easygoing smile on his face, finish sparkling and glittering like the night sky, and his tanks had fallen down through the floor in a split second. He was far, far too handsome for it to be even _remotely_ fair. Suddenly, he’d felt extremely underdressed.

But then Jazz had smiled – smiled _at him_ – and the feeling had melted away, replaced with a foreign bubbling sensation in his chest, and he couldn’t help but launch into his crystals, if only to make Jazz smile more. He always did when Prowl talked about the Praxian culture.

He picked up a seedling of the same type that Jazz had taken with him, and silently wondered what colour it would end up being. Part of him wondered if it’d be red, but it was ridiculous. Those crystals _never_ ended up being red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing a really fun game as I'm jotting ideas down called 'how dumb can I make these boys look while they are clearly desperately pining for the other'


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prowl: They’ll never be red :(  
> Y’all: They’re absolutely going to be red.
> 
> I wasn't gonna post this for a few more days - I like to have the next chapter almost pretty much completed before I post so I don't have the huge waits in between chapters & because I found it quite motivating, but things have been so terribly shitty lately I think some fluff is needed. I really hope this helps anyone who needs something nice.

“I still _cannot_ believe that you completed your training that quickly. _And_ top grades, too.” Smokescreen whistled, looking at the datapads in his hands. “You’re showing me up.”

“The middle child tends to be the smartest one.” Prowl replied, reclining gracefully in the chair. Smokescreen gave him a look of disapproval.

“It’s the _eldest_ , Prowl. The eldest is often the smartest.”

“We don’t know who is eldest out of the two of us.”

“Given how I was in my youngling frame far, far before you, I think we can safely assume it is me.”

“ _You_ can.”

“Oh, stop it, it’s embarrassing. Now we’re on the topic of family, though, have you called Bluestreak lately?”

“I’ve been messaging with him, but no calls. Were you going to give him a call?”

“Video, yeah. After my shift tomorrow. Want to join me?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, I should actually be serious for once.” Smokescreen cleared his intake, coughing into his fist. “So, you did brilliantly in your training, and passed your exams with flying colours, welcome to the tactical department of Special Operations. In the Autobots, the only ones who know about your battle computer are you, I, the CTO, and our wonderful Prime himself.” Smokescreen stacked the datapads in front of him and took another one out of a drawer in the filing cabinet behind him. “So we’ve decided that it’s best, and safest, if you operate under a number of different names whilst making your plans, so if we have any spies amongst us, or if any of these plans fall into the wrong hands, it makes it harder for them to link them all back to you, and also keeps it hidden from other Autobots. Makes that target you’re painting on your back just that little bit smaller, and means it’s less likely to be the topic of the latest gossip.”

“Ratchet doesn’t know?” Prowl asked in surprise.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Smokescreen replied. “Obviously, if it ever happens to come up, he will be made aware before cracking your helm open.”

“I’d hope.” Prowl frowned. “And I don’t imagine my battle computer will be what makes it to the grape vine.”

“Ah, yes.” Smokescreen grinned. “Your budding little romance with Jazz is rather popular, isn’t it?”

“Mmhm.” Prowl looked vaguely embarrassed. “No thanks to you, I imagine. When do I begin my work?”

“Today.” Smokescreen smirked at him. “Here’s the details you need, you’re joining the Echo team. And remember: there’s absolutely no shame in loving someone-”

“ _Smokescreen!_ ” Prowl hissed, snatching the offered datapads from him. “Primus, I am _so glad_ we’re not related sometimes! I am being asked about your betting pools!”

“Oof! A fatal blow!” Smokescreen mock swooned, clutching his chest and delicately laying the back of his hand across his forehead. “How ever shall I survive? My own brother...”

“ _My_ own brother is making betting pools about _my relationship_!”

“Hey, hey, it’s all for a good cause. Bluestreak’s education isn’t going to fund itself!”

Prowl scoffed in disbelief and rolled his optics. “Education is _free_ in Praxus.”

“He wants to come to Iacon.” Smokescreen replied. “You can ask him about it tomorrow. I finish at seven.”

Prowl ex-vented heavily and stood. “I will see you at seven, then.”

“See you~” Smokescreen cheerily waved. Prowl resisted the urge to give him the middle finger.

There was a saying in Praxus that you chose your family, but sometimes Prowl wished that he had chosen a different one.

* * *

Two decacycles had passed until Ratchet deemed it acceptable to remove the brace from Jazz’s arm.

In the meantime, Jazz had dutifully worked hard, sometimes accompanied by Prowl. The crystal he’d given him sat happily on the table, Jazz singing away to it as he worked. Prowl had been right – it most certainly _did_ help him concentrate on his work, paradoxically.

A small, small, red crystal was beginning to bloom.

He had also taken Prowl up on his offer to help him in the washrack, much to the absolute delight of the rest of the crew. Many, many a wolf whistles were had as Prowl helped Jazz reach the bits he couldn’t quite get to.

But now? That horrible, itchy, clunky, and frankly annoying brace was removed. He was free, finally free! Finally free, and on a mission.

His mission? Find Prowl.

Jazz skipped through the base, Blasters latest mixtape playing internally.

That morning, over their breakfast ration of energon, Prowl had informed Jazz that he’d completed his training and was beginning his work as a Special Ops tactician. Jazz was completely over the moon with delight – he’d work with Prowler! Wohoo!

Smokescreen had been extremely loose lipped on where Prowl was. The moment he’d seen Jazz poking his head in through the door to tactical, he’d promptly spilled the beans on Prowls exact location, down to what _seat_ he was sat in. And so he had thanked him, and bounced on in.

Team Echo worked in the Echo room, which was extremely easy to find. Jazz promptly located it, his music loudly playing internally, and took a moment outside to pump himself up. _Ya lookin’ fabulous, mech_ , he told himself. _No one can say no to ya._

Jazz seductively leaned in the door frame, ensuring that the light hit his frame in all of the right places. Arm up, gently bent at the elbow to force his chest out. Hand on thigh, opposite leg slightly raised. Visor locked onto Prowl, ignore the room around him.

Prowls optics were bright like suns, and Jazz knew he had succeeded in getting his attention. Just why his face was going oh so very red Jazz didn’t know. All the same, he winked and sauntered into the room, pausing his music.

“Heya Prowler.” Jazz greeted, sliding in to sit on the table in front of him, taking care to block Prowls view of his terminal whilst not sitting on anything delicate. “Are ya busy tonight?”

Prowl had to reset his vocaliser a few times before he could respond. “What did you have in mind?”

“Ah was thinkin’ Ah’d go dancin’.” Jazz dreamily replied, chin in his hands. “Ah’m finally free, Ah’ve got so much energy Ah wanna burn off. An’ we need ta celebrate your promotion!”

“I finish at six.”

“Perfect! Ah’ll see ya then.” Jazz squeezed his hand, hopping off the table and sauntering back out, giving him a quick wave from the door before disappearing.

He excitedly bounced away, giddy and grinning. He was _so_ excited to finally be able to go out with Prowl again! Sure, they’d spent _some_ time together at the base – mostly board games, the strange movie nights that were sometimes held in the rec room on the bottom floor, and tending to the crystals (Jazz still hadn’t let Prowl see his, wanting to keep it as a surprise) together. But Jazz wanted something more _fun_ , more high energy.

He wanted to _dance_.

But for that, he would need a crew. He pulled up a map of the base, considering his options.

* * *

Prowl hadn’t a single clue how he’d gotten away with that.

He’d heard Jazz coming, singing along to his music as he approached, and looked up in time to see him leaning in the doorway, light falling on him in such a way that accentuated the curve of his thighs, the dip of his waist, the gentle slope of his chest, the dimples in his cheeks and the way his neck was exposed-

And his engine had _revved_.

Actually, audibly revved.

His coworkers had promptly lost it, breaking out into roaring laughter. It was so, so _obvious_ that Prowl had done something, _especially_ if his face was as red as it felt.

Yet Jazz had simply been politely confused, and perched on the table in front of him and invited him out that evening while Prowl desperately tried to stop his engine from revving again.

The moment Jazz had left, he slowly sunk down, burying his face into his hands whilst the others giggled and snickered into their hands. _Excellent_ that they were finding enjoyment in his pain, wasn’t it? If only Prowl could see the humour in the situation too.

His shift couldn’t end soon enough. He waited for the rest of his team to leave, gently teasing him as they went, warning him to not keep Jazz waiting. His doorwings bristled in embarrassment and contempt, but he resolutely stayed, staring at his terminal screen.

“This is the worst.” He groaned into his hands. He’d become undone, a mess, if he saw Jazz again.

But he had appearances to keep up. He’d have to go. And besides, Jazz had said that he had wanted to celebrate his promotion too.

* * *

Jazz had managed to summon a small crew of mechs to lay siege to Iacons vibrant night life.

Sunstreaker, a mech Prowl only knew through reputation – an ex-gladiator from Kaon with a unique ability to get into scraps, however extraordinarily vain. Prowl wondered if the two were related at all. Sideswipe, Sunstreakers twin brother. Another ex-gladiator. Didn’t even know the definition of vanity. Mirage, Bumblebee, and Blaster had also answered his summons.

It was an extremely odd crew, to say the very least.

Prowl didn’t think he’d be staying out for too long.

He sat alone at a small table, tucked away in the corner to keep his doorwings out of reach of overcharged mechs with no concept of personal space, and resigned himself to an evening of people watching while he tried to make his drink last as long as possible.

Jazz would be having exactly _none_ of that.

He flopped down next to Prowl with a sigh of pure joy, wriggling up to his side and leaning his head against his shoulder.

“Ya should come an’ join me.” Jazz said, dancing his fingers down Prowls arm, gently sliding over his hand and tracing the rim of Prowls glass. “It’s more fun than it looks.”

Prowl snorted in disbelief. “I have two left pedes. It would be fun for nobody.”

“Weren’t ya gonna teach me how ta dance?”

“I don’t think there’s any need for that. You’re excellent enough already, I would simply tarnish your expertise.”

“Don’ be like that, Prowler.” Jazz laughed. “Ah didn’ take ya to be shy.” He moved his hand to cover Prowls, gently intertwining their digits together.

“I’m not,” Prowl replied, his other hand moving to cover Jazz’s, thumb gently rubbing Jazz’s, “I simply do not wish to give you sub par instruction.”

“Awww.” Jazz placed his other hand on top of Prowls, leaning more insistently into his shoulder. “Ah’m sure y’all be fine!”

“How about this, then. I will teach you if you teach me your sign language.” Prowl bargained. Jazz grimaced, hands twitching from where they rested amongst Prowls.

“Aww, Prowler. So unfair. Ah can ask, but...”

“What if I said this instead; you ask, I teach.” Prowl squeezed his hands. “No matter the answer.”

“Deal.” Jazz squeezed his hands back. He turned to observe around them, hunting down Mirage and Bumblebee. He spotted Bumblebee from across the room, and waved to grab his attention. Attention received, Jazz extracted his hands from Prowl and moved in a flurry of hand signs.

Bumblebee made what Prowl could only guess was a very stern negative gesture.

“I take it that was a resounding no.” Prowl said, taking a sip from his drink.

“Yup. Big ol’ no.”

“I appreciate the effort regardless.” Prowl nodded, placing what was left of his drink down, pushing it towards Jazz. “Help me finish this, then we can get started.”

* * *

Smokescreen did not expect to find his brother dancing in a club in Iacon, and yet here he was, watching Prowl dancing with Jazz in a club in Iacon. He suddenly stopped in the doorway in surprise.

That was a _Praxian_ dance.

_Prowl_ was teaching _Jazz_ tradition Praxian dances.

He lowly whistled. He didn’t think Prowl would ever do that, he was never the sentimental type.

Jazz appeared to trip over his own pedes, falling into Prowls arms, the pair looking at each other and laughing (Prowl! _Laughing_!), and Smokescreen shook his head in disbelief. He knew Jazz well enough to know that he was far too coordinated to ever trip over his own pedes. He’d 100% done that on purpose.

But he didn’t get it. Why the silly, unnecessary flirting? He already had Prowl hook, line, and sinker – that much was obvious – so why did Jazz feel the need to continue?

Mysterious. Very mysterious indeed.

Eventually, though, Prowl left the dancefloor, slipping back onto his table. Smokescreen glided over, weaving through the crowd, and slid into the seat next to him.

“I’m surprised you still remember how to do that.”

Prowl almost jumped out of his skin, swear caught in his throat.

“Primus, Smokescreen!”

“What? Did you numb your wings or something?”

Prowls doorwings twitched. “Somewhat. The sound is a bit...”

“Aggressive?”

“Aggressive.”

“Hmm.” Smokescreen stirred his drink with a straw. “Why do you come to these kinds of places, then, if you can’t handle them?”

“Jazz likes to try new things.”

“The Praxian place is new. _And_ easier on your wings.”

“I don’t want it to become boring to him.”

“I see.” Smokescreen sipped from his drink as an easy silence fell over them.

Prowl watched Jazz dancing, doorwings gently bobbing to the beat, chin resting in his hands. He hadn’t realised he was smiling until he spotted his reflection in Smokescreens glass.

He didn’t recognise the expression on his face. It wasn’t one he’d ever seen on himself before.

* * *

Prowl had excused himself early, citing exhaustion and his doorwings aching. While that was true – his wings were beginning to hurt more than he could stand to ignore, and he was tired, he was also concerned that the longer he stayed there, watching Jazz dance, mixing in a few of the moves Prowl had taught him in with his own routine, the more he’d fall into his infatuation, and the harder it would be to keep up the act.

He was awoken from recharge by a light knocking at his door. He crept out of his berth, peering through the eyehole.

“Jazz?” Prowl blearily opened the door, stretching. “Is everything okay?”

“Ah jus’ wanted to make sure ya were okay.” Jazz replied. “Can Ah come in?”

Prowl stepped aside, flexing his doorwings as he rubbed the sleep out of his optics. “I am fine, just tired.”

“Did Ah wake ya?” Jazz nervously asked, fiddling with his own fingers.

“I was in an extremely light recharge, it doesn’t matter.”

“Ah’m sorry- oh? Is tha’ one a’the crystals?” Jazz suddenly pointed at something behind Prowl. He turned to look – and sure enough, on the shelf behind him, was a line of the crystals he’d been tending to. And the one Jazz was pointing at was a bright, vibrant blue, eerily like the colour of his own visor.

“Yes. They all seem to have grown very well.”

“It’s such a bright colour. Which one is it?”

“The...” Prowl swallowed hard. His hesitation was ridiculous – Jazz didn’t know the superstition surrounding this particular variety, it was fine. “It’s the one where its care determines its characteristics.”

“It’s so cute.” Jazz cooed, moving closer to inspect it. “Such a vibrant colour, too!”

“I fed it well.”

“Ah still need ta show ya the one ya gave me. Ah wanted ta leave it as a surprise, until it got bigger.”

“How big is it?” Prowl asked, sitting down on his berth. His frame still ached with exhaustion, and sitting was so much easier on him than standing.

“Ah guess… like an egg?” Jazz shrugged.

“Very good, for a beginner.”

Jazz beamed with pride as he plopped himself down next to Prowl. The smell of high grade almost smacked him in the face.

“… How much more did you drink after I left?” Prowl tentatively asked.

“Shots may have been involved.” Jazz admitted.

“Oh, Primus.” Prowl dragged a hand down his face. It was a true testament to Jazz’s tolerance levels that he was still as coherent as he was, but Prowl wasn’t the type to let him wonder around the base whilst out of sorts. “You’re staying here tonight.”

“Oh, Prowler~” Jazz leaned into him, hand resting on his chest.

“I wont disturb you.” Prowl continued as if Jazz hadn’t said anything, standing and pulling Jazz up with him. “You can sleep wherever you want.”

Jazz simply plopped himself down onto Prowls berth, still warm from where he’d been laying on it.

“But that’s- okay, okay, fine.” Prowl moved to be in the berth opposite, settling himself down and making himself comfortable. “Goodnight, Jazz.”

“G’night, Prowler.” Jazz curled up on the warm spot, nuzzling his face into Prowls pillow and breathing in deeply as his visor slowly darkened.

Prowl took a moment to simply watch Jazz, frame slowly relaxing, a gentle smile on his face, before turning off the light.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the last chapter wasn’t very clear – Jazz stole Prowls bed, Prowl silently accepted it and took another one.   
> Uploading this before I have another bit done again simply because my country is now on total lockdown and I’m :))))) I need some of that wonderful serotonin your enthusiasm and enjoyment gives me! I'm super bad at responding to comments but know that I love and appreciate all of you and I read every single one!

Jazz woke up feeling _very_ warm and comfortable indeed.

He was slow to online, feeling abnormally groggy and lethargic. He racked his processor for information – was he on a mission? Had things gone terribly bad? But the fact that he was warm, comfortable, and not in any kind of pain suggested that he hadn’t been given the jump whilst on a mission. It was something else instead.

His visor slowly onlined, and he found himself having to restart it a few times before he fully understood what he was seeing.

_How_ they both fit was completely beyond him, but for whatever reason, he was currently very much cuddled up to a very asleep Prowl, the other mech tucked into his shoulder, arm casually thrown over his waist.

He’d died. He’d died, and gone to join Primus in the well of allsparks. This is what it had to be, it couldn’t be anything else.

Prowl’s hand twitched and he made a quiet noise, shifting in his sleep to press closer to him. Jazz felt himself catapult straight into the upper stratosphere.

What had he done to be rewarded with this? Or what was he going to lose? Was this moment simply being dangled in front of him like a carrot? Was a cruel deity presenting him with what he so desperately wanted, only to rip it away at the last moment unless Jazz did as they wanted?

… He’d never seen Prowl look so… _calm_. His face, now that he had something to compare it with, always looked so _stern_ and cold. But right now, it looked soft, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch it, to trace his fingers down the curve of his cheek, the gentle slope of his nose, and plush lips. His optics, too – they were so much softer when Prowl was asleep, the blue a much softer glow-

_Wait_.

The two stared at each other in silence, Prowls systems audibly slowly coming online. His optics became brighter, more chilly and cold, and his face slowly, slowly turned a wonderful shade of pink.

“I am _so_ sorry.” He spluttered, desperately untangling himself from Jazz and the duvet at once. It was all very uncoordinated and pitiful to watch, honestly – and if Jazz helped Prowl untangle himself from the trap that was the blanket, he didn’t make a show of it.

“Ah didn’ think we started off in the same berth.” Jazz couldn’t help but laugh.

“Me neither. Did I get confused and join you..?” Prowl looked up. No, that couldn’t be, that was _his_ berth over there, and he was fairly confident that he’d left Jazz there the previous night.

“Ah must’a joined ya.” Jazz wriggled himself free, moving to be sitting upright by the pillow. Prowl slipped off beside him, stretching out his joints as he checked the time.

“Oh, frag!” He loudly swore, hopping on the spot in distress. “My shift starts in five kliks!”

“Best run.” Jazz languidly stretched, arms behind his head as he reclined backwards. “Wouldn’ wanna be late!”

“Jazz, you’re on shift too, remember? Ultra Magnus wanted to see you?”

Jazz felt his face fall, tugging on the structures enough to make it twinge. “Oh, _fuck_.”

A cruel deity indeed.

* * *

Apparently it had been rather funny to watch the two of them emerge from the same room and sprint in opposite directions, both looking somewhat worse for wear yet somehow refreshed.

“Good night?” Smokescreen teased as Prowl clocked in, chest heaving. He’d _just_ made it.

“Jealousy isn’t a good look.” Prowl retorted, taking a moment to catch his breath. Primus, he really needed to work out more. A run like that would have been a walk in the park whilst he was with the Enforcers. Being a sedentary tactician was clearly _not_ for him.

“Har de har.” Smokescreen sarcastically replied, shoving a datapad into his chest. “Here are your tasks for today. Read them extra carefully, okay?”

Prowl nodded as he took the datapad, suddenly more alert. Smokescreen had taken the time too tell him to read them extra carefully, even knowing the sort of mech he was – there had to be something in them that he absolutely could not afford to miss.

He sat at his own terminal before he even onlined the datapad, checking that no one was behind him before he unlocked it and read the files inside.

Smokescreen had presented him with four different scenarios, and each scenario had been assigned a different name.

Prowl. Redshift. Paragon. Step.

Ah. It clicked. Smokescreen had mentioned him requiring aliases – apparently, these were the mechs he’d be ghostwriting for. He recognised the names – Redshift, a spacecraft who worked down the hall from him. Paragon, a team mate of his. Turned into a motorcycle. Step, a frankly excruciatingly annoying mech who worked in the office opposite them who _insisted_ he turned into a hovercraft but seemed more like a boat, in all honesty. It made perfect sense that they’d assign him the names of mechs who already existed, however how they would attribute these plans back to himself he didn’t know, or how they’d avoid these mechs catching wind of them and the fact that Prowl was pretending to be them.

_Eh_. Smokescreens problem.

He read through the first scenario, making a mental checklist, and set himself to work.

The end of his shift found him knocking on Smokescreens door, waiting to be invited in before entering.

“I finished my assignments for the day,” Prowl said, handing him a datapad, “And I think my coworkers forgot this. I’m not sure what’s on it, but I’d hate for them to have missed handing in an assignment.”

“Thank you, Prowl.” Smokescreen nodded, accepting both datapads. “I’ll check it over. Good work.” He placed both onto the table, the misplaced datapad on top. “Primus, you’re so fast...”

“The lowest success rate achieved today was 87%.”

“You’re really scary, did you know that?”

“So I am told.”

“All things aside, I’m glad you’re enjoying it here. And I’m very, very glad to have you on my team.”

“It is extremely enjoyable, I am finding I prefer it to battlefield tactics.”

“Careful, don’t let Ironhide hear you say that! He’s rather cross that I’ve poached you.”

“Ah, that explains the longing looks. Jazz was beginning to become concerned.”

Smokescreen roared with laughter. “He’s got nothing to worry about, you’re a good egg. Now, off with you. Your shift is over and I’ll not have you spend another klick in here if I can help it, Primus knows you’ll sneak into the filing cabinets and continue working. Like some kind of gremlin.”

Prowl snorted in disbelief. “You do it _once_ …”

“Damn right I’ll never let you forget. Not so long as I breathe, dear brother of mine. I’ll see you bright and early, and _on time_ , tomorrow.”

“I was on time today.” Prowl objected as he made to leave. “Just… out of breath.”

“Very out of breath. You were a mess.”

Prowl simply waved as he left, and then Smokescreen turned his attention to the datapads. He took the top datapad, the one Prowl had claimed had been left behind by a coworker, and onlined it.

Tsk. _Bloody liar_. It was his ghost writer work. He’d even written in the notes that it wasn’t urgent, and yet he’d still done it far, far ahead of the deadline. Very, very soon, they’d be running out of work to keep him busy with.

* * *

Jazz looked absolutely _miserable_ that evening.

Prowl was collecting a cube in the rec room when he sensed Jazz sneak up behind him, and was about to turn and greet him, offering him the cube he had just collected, when he felt arms wrap around him and a warm face press into his back, just in between his doorwings.

It felt… very nice, actually.

“Can Ah come over tonigh’?” Jazz asked, voice muffled in his back.

“Of course. Are you okay?”

“Magnus is real cross with me.” Jazz whined.

“Here.” Prowl tapped Jazz’s hands with the cube he’d just collected. “Take this, we can drink it there.”

He took another one for himself after Jazz had released his hold on him to accept the cube.

Smokescreen watched the pair leave in disbelief, energon running down his chin and splashing on the table from where he’d gone slack jawed mid drink. _What?!_

“… What’s wrong with you?” Cliffjumper bluntly asked.

“My brother….” Smokescreen absently wiped the energon from his chin. “That _cannot_ be my brother.” If he tried that, he’d find the barrel of a gun in between his optics – and they’d near enough _grown up_ together. Bluestreak may have gotten away with it, but Prowl would definitely have wriggled away and physically held him at an arms length.

But Jazz? Jazz had been allowed to walk behind him, to stand behind him, to _exist_ behind him, _and_ to hug him. Prowl was the type to accept a very, awkwardly short hug from the front. You’d get five seconds if you were crying, _maybe_. Smokescreen began counting on his fingers. They’d known each other for a handful of groons at most – Prowl had mentioned that they’d met at their orientation to the Iacon base – and yet Jazz had already worked himself past Prowls thick, impenetrable walls and settled in rather nicely on the other side. For whatever reason, Prowl had let Jazz in.

But damn, if he wasn’t jealous.

* * *

Jazz looked at the crystals on the shelf, admiring them, whilst Prowl made the berths. They hadn’t had time to right them that morning. Tucked in behind a small purple crystal was a picture frame containing a photo of three young Praxians – one was _oh so obviously_ Prowl, doorwings held high and taut, and another Smokescreen, the beginnings of that familiar grin and the easy going way he held himself, and in between them was a very, very young mech, clinging onto both of their hands for support as they tried to stand, frame grey with splashes of blue and red.

“Who’s that?” Jazz asked, pointing to them. Prowl peered over his shoulder at the photograph.

“That’s Bluestreak. I’m going to assume the other two don’t require any introduction.”

“Nah, ya haven’ changed a bit.” Jazz teased. “A cute lil’ thing.”

Prowl snorted, turning away to continue righting the room. Jazz continued to study the photograph, picking it up from the shelf to get a better look.

They were in what he guessed by the sheer volume of crystals around them to be Praxus. Behind them were two elderly looking femmes, hands delicately placed on Prowl and Smokescreen’s helms. And behind them all stood a building, words in Praxian script written on it.

“Wha’ does it say?”

Prowl was very quiet for a moment. “The building?” He finally asked.

“Yeah. Ah can figure out a few sounds, but...”

“… It’s an orphanage.”

“Ya creators died?”

“As far as I know.” Prowl fiddled absent mindedly with the edge of a blanket, sitting down on his berth as he finally took his energon cube from his subspace. “I never knew them.”

“But Bluestreak’s so much younger than you.” Jazz frowned at the photo.

“While I am flattered that you think we have familial resemblance, we’re not biological family.”

Jazz balked, rapidly looking between Prowl and the photograph. “Seriously?!”

“No.” Prowl couldn’t help but smirk in amusement. “None of us are.”

“Not even ya an’ Smokey?” Jazz stared blankly into space. “Ah had no idea...”

“Not very many do.” Prowl replied, patting the berth next to him. “We all consider the other to be family, however, and that is what matters in the end, isn’t it?”

“Ah guess, yeah.” Jazz accepted the offer and plopped himself down next to Prowl after returning the photo to its rightful spot on the shelf. “So ya all managed to stick together?”

“We did.” Prowl nodded. “After Smokescreen aged out of the system, he took us both with him. I joined the enforcers, we raised Bluestreak.” Prowl shrugged. “All things considered, I think we turned out okay.”

Jazz whistled. “Doesn’t sound like ya had much of a childhood.”

“That’s for another time, I think.” Prowl drank from his cube. “We are here for you, are we not?”

Jazz grimaced. “Magnus.”

“Magnus.” Prowl nodded.

“He gave me a lecture on the importance of punctuality. _How_ he managed to stretch it to fit 2 whole joors without repeating a single word Ah do not know and Ah’m not willing to spend time pondering it. He then followed tha’ up with another lecture on how bein’ punctual, an’ able to sit still for long periods of time was what made a good Ops Agent.”

“I’ve seen your stats.” Prowl finished his cube. “You are excellent at what you do.”

“Not good enough, apparently.” Jazz sulked. “Ah’m missin’ too much, or gettin’ injured too frequently.”

“Granted, me getting you blown up was not that great, but that is no reflection on you or your ability.” Prowl reached out and squeezed his hand. “Don’t let yourself become discouraged. I’m looking forwards to working with you.”

“Ah’ll do my best, Prowler.” Jazz squeezed his hand back. “Thank ya.”

They stayed in a comfortable silence, their hands still intertwined on the berth between them, slowly drinking their cubes. Once he had finished, Jazz turned back to the crystals growing on Prowls shelf.

“Tha’ blue one’s growing real fast!” Jazz commented. “Ah’m so jealous, mine is still like an engorged egg.”

“A _what_ egg?” Prowl snorted in laughter. “Engorged? I don’t think I have ever heard someone describe anything like that before.”

Jazz shrugged. “It was the best Ah could come up with to describe it. Not quite small enough to be an egg, but not big enough to be anythin’ else.”

“And _that_ was the best you could come up with?”

“In hindsight, not my best moment.”

“Apparently.” Prowl laughed again. “May I see it?”

Jazz seemed to fight with himself internally, before sighing and nodding. “Ah really wanted ta wait until it got bigger, but Ah’m worried Ah’m doin’ somethin’ wrong now...”

“This _is_ your first crystal, Jazz. There’s no shame in getting things wrong.”

“Ah know, but ya took ya time to explain how to do it to me, Ah wanna do it well.”

Prowl felt an odd stab of pride and affection. “You really don’t have to show me.”

“Nah, Ah will.” Jazz hopped up onto his feet and held his hands out to Prowl, wiggling his fingers. “Come on, Ah’ll show ya.”

Prowl allowed Jazz to pull him up, being pulled by the hand as Jazz lead them through the base to his quarters.

“Ooh, lucky. The room’s empty.” Jazz said as he typed in the code to open the door. He pulled Prowl in behind him and left him by the door as he went over to his storage unit, unlocking it and removing the crystal.

Prowl felt a tight ball in his throat and a light, airy feeling in his chest when he saw it.

Red. Bright, bright red, and what was unmistakeably a new growth of a clear segment, called white in the business.

“Red is extremely rare.” He managed to choke out, engine spluttering. Jazz looked absolutely elated.

“Really?!”

He could only nod in response. Jazz happily jumped about the room, gushing excitedly about the crystal and how he’d been caring for it.

“Ah’ve been singing to it twice a day – when Ah wake up, an’ before Ah go to bed-”

“I think it missed its dose this morning.”

“Do ya want me to sing to it now?”

“Please.” Any distraction away from how red his face was going, or the difficulties he experienced in keeping his face together would be extremely good right now, thank you!

Jazz sat on the berth, crystal in hand, and softly began to sing to it, the sound resonating within the crystal and being repeated back in a higher tone.

“That’s a perfect sound.” Prowl commented. Jazz’s voice faltered as he smiled, the two sharing a look before Jazz turned back to his crystal. Prowl watched in silent awe, for a moment considering himself the luckiest mech on the planet.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post this on Friday, as I’ve noticed that I seem to have a Tuesday & Friday upload schedule, but Animal Crossing happened.

Now that Jazz had made his Big Reveal to Prowl, he had taken up the habit of bringing it to work with him, leaving it to sit at his work station where he could absently tend to it while he worked. At first, Ultra Magnus had disapproved – it was a distraction! But even he couldn’t deny that, for the first time _ever_ , Jazz was actually properly writing and formatting his reports.

And so, there it stayed. Much to the absolute delight and amusement to the resident Praxians on base.

Jazz didn’t understand the chatter and the glee they had over it – Prowl had just said that it was an extremely rare colour and they often required a bit more attention – but from the way they were acting, it felt like there was more to it than that.

“Hey, Raj?” He leaned over to the right into Mirages area.

“Mmhm?”

“Ya like crystals, righ’?”

“That is correct. I do rather like the colour on yours, I must say. It is very pleasing.”

“Thanks! But Ah was wonderin’… is there anythin’ special about this particular one? The Praxians seem ta really like it...”

“Nothing particularly special to me.” Mirage replied. “However, I feel you may get a better answer if you were to ask a _Praxian_.”

“Ah’m not close enough ta ‘em.” Jazz frowned. “An’ Prowler didn’ say anythin’ when he saw it, so Ah’m not sure where Ah’d get askin’ him.”

“Couldn’t hurt to ask. You could always ask Smokescreen, too.”

“Huh.” Smokescreen. That’s right, he existed. While Jazz wouldn’t say that they were friends, they knew each other well enough to be on each others Christmas card list, and he _was_ Prowls brother. “Ah guess Ah can, yeah.”

Just down the hallway found Smokescreen in his office with Prowl, a stack of datapads on the desk in between them.

“You’ve got to stop being so fast.” Smokescreen desperately begged. “Please, Primus, _please_ , we’re running out of things to give you to do.”

“Worried you’ll set off alarm bells in the Decepticon base if you give me too much?”

“It will give away your special piece of hardware instantly.” Smokescreen tapped his head. “As we’ve agreed before, we’d very much rather that did not happen, yes?”

“You could give me more names.”

Smokescreen sighed. “Four is already more than we can get away with. We’ve managed to handwave it off for now, but the Prime has already noticed, and the rest of high command is starting to cotton on, too. We’ve got some hot breath on our necks right now.”

“Isn’t it best to just come clean about it all?”

Smokescreen grimaced. “Eeehh. I’d rather the whole faction didn’t find out. There’d be arguments. One of the other guys like you is on medical leave right now, the senate have been running her into the ground. I’d rather you didn’t end up in the clutches of Ratchet.”

“And?” Prowl prompted.

“The more who know, the more likely it is to get out. Your battle computer is far, far too important to us to let the Decepticons get it.”

“And yet you don’t let me use it.”

“I do not decide these things.” Smokescreen frowned. “The _CTO_ does.”

“The CTO?”

“Yes.” Smokescreen gave him a look. “They decide everything that goes on in this department.”

Prowl made a thoughtful noise. “Hmm.”

“Anyway, moving on before we get treasonous,” Smokescreen waved his hands in front of him as if clearing away smoke, “Jazz.”

Prowls doorwings perked up. “Jazz?”

“I notice he has a nice red crystal.” Smokescreen smirked. Prowls doorwings shot up, pressing his lips together into a thin line as colour crept up his neck and into his face. “Shall I hazard a guess at what colour yours is?”

“It’s none of your business.” Prowl spat.

“Blue, then. Amazing.” Smokescreen laughed. “Does he know the story about that kind?”

Prowl mutely shook his head.

“What?” Smokescreens doorwings perked up in surprise. “You haven’t told him? Mechs are total saps for that kind of stuff. The whole soulmates appearing in your crystal,” Smokescreen mock swooned, “ _so_ romantic. And he’s even got white in his!” Prowl placed a hand over his mouth as he crossed his arms, optics shuttering as he tried to gather himself. This was absolutely _not_ lost on Smokescreen.

“ _No way_!”

“Smokescreen-” Prowl suddenly so very desperately wanted to blow their cover and admit they were faking it all - he just wanted his brother to _stop embarrassing him_.

“Yours too?! White or black?”

“Why are you so interested?” Prowl glared at him. At the slight falter in his brothers expression, his own hardened. “You did _not_ make a betting pool on our crystals.”

“Just… a little… little one...” He mimed with his fingers.

“You are utterly unbelievable.” Prowl scowled, turning and making to leave.

“Wait, where are you going?” Smokescreen called.

“I’m done for the day.” Prowl snapped back.

“But you haven’t even told me the colours.” He whined as the door slammed behind him.

* * *

Smokescreen had decided to take matters into his own hands. He’d just have to go and ask _Jazz_.

He knocked on the door to the room Jazz could usually be found in if he wasn’t out in the field or made to go on patrol, and opened the door to Jazz softly singing to the crystal as he carefully held it, brushing away invisible pieces of dust. He whistled, low and long, and Jazz briefly glanced at him, not missing a single beat.

“I’ve heard legends of this crystal.” Smokescreen began, walking into the room proper to inspect it. “Prowl gave it to you?”

“As a seed, yeah.” Jazz replied. Mirage had stopped typing at his terminal, clearly glad for a distraction from the monotonous tone of work. Smokescreen gave it an appreciative look.

“Has Prowl got one too? He wont tell me anything.” Smokescreen pulled a sad face.

“Probably ‘cause a’that bettin’ pool ya made!” Jazz laughed. “He has. It’s blue an’ black.”

“ _Jazz_!” Mirage mock scandalously replied, hand on his chest, pretending as though he did not utterly enjoy the drama unfolding before him.

“Wha’?” Jazz winked at him. “A friend’s got a bet in, an’ Ah’m just helpin’ him get his share.”

“Blue and black, you say?” Smokescreen pulled out a datapad and stylus, rapidly clicking and scrawling something down. “Ah. Blaster made that bet. Interesting – he’s the only non-Praxian to do so.”

“Is there something special in Praxus abou’ these crystals, then?”

Smokescreen slowly looked up from his datapad at him in what he hoped was a convincing display of shock. “You mean, he hasn’t told you?”

“Told me wha’?”

“Oh, oh my.” Smokescreens face split into a genuine grin as he stashed the datapad and stylus away again. “In Praxus they have many names, but one that’s easily translatable is _soul crystal_. They are said to be a reflection of your soulmate, if properly cared for. And considering you’re singing to yours, and from what I can see of it right now, it’s _very_ well looked after indeed.”

“Ya think?” Jazz’s face had gone red.

“Prowl would be proud.” Smokescreen replied. “Anyway, I’d best be off, business to attend to.” Smokescreen lazily waved as he left. Mirage looked between the door and Jazz, who hadn’t moved and was vacantly staring off into space.

“Cybertron to Jazz?” Mirage waved his hand in front of his face after a few moments of spectating, silently wondering if Jazz would snap out of it on his own.

“Hnnuuh?”

“You’ve looked vacant and expressionless for the past few kliks.”

“Prowl...”

“Ah, yes. That is rather sweet, isn’t it? Both of you having matching crystals.” Mirage turned back to his terminal. “Come on, pull yourself together. We’re meant to be out on our patrol soon.”

Ah. Yes. Patrol. Jazz had forgotten that. He heaved a deep, longing sigh, and turned back to his terminal.

* * *

Prowl had decided to take his unexpected free time and use it for a little shopping expedition.

It was turning to winter in Iacon, and Prowl wanted a new, thicker blanket. In Praxus, he was used to it being constantly hot. Iacon, up on the northernmost pole of their planet, was by comparison much, much colder, and it even _snowed_. While Prowl did very much like the snow – it was a great novelty to him – he didn’t particularly appreciate the cold.

And, also, Jazz. He was embarrassed to even be considering this, but Jazz _had_ been spending more and more time in his quarters. It only seemed fair to get Jazz his own thermal blanket, too. Maybe something soft to put in the other berth for him.

So he did a spot of window shopping. The weather was beginning to turn colder, summer almost over and the beginnings of their short autumn creeping in, and so many shops had already started displaying their collections.

He slowly browsed, taking mental notes. This shop had the thickest, fluffiest blankets he had _ever_ seen, but this shop had very similar blankets for a fraction of the cost. Then this shop had some very beautiful blankets, not designed to be thermal and likely purely decorative, but beautiful none the less. He earmarked that one for Jazz.

He had reached the end of the street, carefully considering his options (after all, this _was_ an investment he was making!), when he heard someone transform and bounce right up to him.

“Heya, Prowler!” Jazz greeted.

“Jazz?” Prowls doorwings jerked up in surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you here, aren’t you on shift?”

“Ah can say the same to ya!” Jazz teased. “Playin’ hookey? Or just get off early?”

“I finished all of my allotted work for the day faster than anticipated.” Prowl replied, shrugging. “So I decided to do some shopping.”

“Aw, wish Ah could join ya, but Ah’m meant to be on patrol.” Jazz indicated back to who he assumed were Mirage and Bumblebee, waiting patiently in their alternate modes.

“Another time, then.”

“It’s a date?”

“It’s a date.”

Jazz bounced on his pedes before leaning in and placing a kiss squarely on his cheek. Prowl felt his face immediately burn like fire, the spot where Jazz’s lips had touched prickling, and the two met optics.

“Ah.” Jazz placed a hand over his mouth. “Ah got caught in the moment.”

“Well, stop getting caught in it!” Prowl tried his best to keep his voice down so that the other two didn’t hear.

“Sorry, sorry!” Jazz squeaked, backing away and waving before transforming back into his alt mode and driving away.

Prowl placed his hand over his cheek, pressing his palm into Jazz’s kiss, his spark absolutely giddy.

It was going to become absolutely impossible to hide his feelings at some point or another, he grimly realised.

* * *

Prowl sat in his quarters on his berth, staring intently at the other.

Neatly folded on top was the blanket he had bought for Jazz, a jar of Praxian energon goodies that he’d noticed Jazz particularly enjoyed, and a last minute pressure buy of a banquet of purple flowers. He was ashamed that he’d been so expertly pressured into buying it, but buy it he did.

Would he do it? Would he be brave enough to say anything?

He worried his bottom lip. If it went well, then that was… amazing. Incredible. They’d been doing this dance for nothing, and it’d no longer be a lie. It’d be something real. But if it didn’t? It’d be awkward, and extremely hard to pretend. They’d have to drop the act, and then his brother would be right back to being an annoying arse.

Jazz sent him a ping, asking if he was in his quarters. Well, moment of truth, Prowl supposed.

Jazz nervously entered a few moments later, field oozing with apology. “Ah’m real sorry about earlier.” he said.

“Don’t worry about it.” Prowl waved him off. “We had an audience, after all. Think of it as a part of the performance.”

“Still, though.” Jazz frowned. “Ah feel bad.”

“Would it make you feel better if I did it back?”

“Ah mean- yeah, but, no, I mean-” Jazz flailed his hands. “Yanno?”

“Fine, if I… what was it you said, again? ‘Get caught in the moment’? Then I shall. How does that sound?”

“Great, actually.” Jazz breathed. Prowl was too preoccupied with the gifts currently sat on the berth for him to pay enough attention to Jazz, face burning, vents working faster, hands fiddling with his various bits of kibble in nervous excitement.

“I… got you some things.” Prowl gestured to the pile. “It’s getting cold, and if I remember correctly, Polyhex is similar to Praxus in that we have hot climates.”

“Flowers?” Jazz asked, picking them up and smelling them deeply. “They smell amazing.”

“They were free.” Prowl lied, shrugging. “I thought you may get more use out of them than I.”

“Ah’m sure Ah can spruce up the office a bit.” Jazz agreed. His attention next turned onto the Praxian goodies.

“How did ya know?!” Jazz excitedly asked, popping open the top and smelling deeply.

“I noticed you seemed to order these the most at the Praxian bar.”

“Ya know me so well.” Jazz teased, placing the two to the side in order to better pick up the blanket. “Wow!” He exclaimed, picking it up. “It’s so soft!”

“Do you like it?” Prowl nervously asked.

“Like it?” Jazz whirled around to face him. “Ah love it! Thank ya so much!” He held it close, enjoying the feeling of the soft mesh against his body. “How much do Ah owe ya?”

“Owe me?” Prowl asked in surprise.

“Yeah. For all this.” Jazz gestured to the items on the berth too.

“Nothing.” Prowl waved him off. “I am in want of nothing in return.”

Jazz’s field swelled with… _something_ that Prowl didn’t have a chance to properly analyse before it was suddenly tugged back in tight to where Prowl could no longer feel it. “Seriously?” He asked, voice muffled by the blanket.

“Seriously.” Prowl replied.

Jazz slowly sat down onto the berth, face buried into the blanket. “Thank ya.”

Prowl felt his tongue tie itself into knots. He couldn’t speak. And so he stayed silent, perfectly content to watch Jazz and enjoy his presence.

* * *

Jazz curled up that evening on his berth, flowers safely in a vase on the floor beside his bunk, the cube of energon goodies safely stashed away in his subspace and the thick, fluffy blanket covering him. It was still a bit too warm for it, but he’d be able to stay underneath it for now. Just for now. It still vaguely smelled of Prowl, and it made his spark skip a beat.

* * *

“Fine!” Smokescreen snapped at his brother as he walked into his office, Prowl already seated. “You win! You win! CTO gives you the a-okay to be given old scenarios for training purposes. If that _still_ isn’t enough for you, then battlefield wants you back, and we can figure out a shift pattern with them.”

“I knew you’d come round and see it my way eventually.” Prowl smugly replied.

“Yeah, right.” Smokescreen snorted in disbelief. “Here,” Smokescreen went to hand him a stack of datapads, cursing as he accidentally knocked them to the floor. Prowl knelt to help him pick them up. “As I was saying.” Smokescreen replied, handing them to his brother. “Here are your scenarios. And here,” Smokescreen handed him two more datapads, sliding them onto the top of the stack, “are your scenarios for this decacycle. _Please_ , for the love of _Primus_ , do not blaze straight through these in a single cycle.”

“I will do my best.” Prowl replied.

Prowl sat at his desk with the stack, slowly flicking through them. He set aside the tasks for this decacycle – his battle computer had supplied him with the information that it would take him two cycles at most to complete it, and so he had plenty of time – and focused his attention to the scenarios he’d been presented with. His optics widened in curiosity when he came across one involving Jazz, Mirage, and Bumblebee.

Hmm. Interesting. He wondered if he’d be able to find a different answer to the scenario, considering he knew Jazz… very well, and the other two he was at least familiar with.

He leaned back, stretching his arms in front of him, and stretched upwards to the ceiling. This was going to be a fun and interesting workday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said to myself when I started this that I didn't want it to get serious and I kept finding myself having to revise things because oops, that's a wee bit serious! We're here for FLUFF, children, FLUFF.  
> Please enjoy the carrot I have dangled anyhoo.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much fluff here, but I'm hoping the next chapter will provide with much payoff.

Seven cycles later found Prowl handing in all of the datapads, and Smokescreen banishing him to battlefield tactics.

Two cycles after that found Prowl rapidly backpeddaling as an extremely irate Smokescreen stormed towards him.

“ _Prowl_!” He yelled, stalking towards him with a murderous glint in his optics. “Get over here now!”

Prowl did not like this voice. He knew it well, but he did not often find himself on the receiving end of it. No, that was Bluestreak. If he was getting this voice? Then he somehow managed to really, really mess up. Like that time he’d joined the enforcers whilst underage. Smokescreen had been _apocalyptic_.

“Don’t you think this is better in your office?” Prowl tried.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Smokescreen sarcastically replied, grabbing Prowl by the audial and dragging him along behind him.

“That is unbecoming of a senior officer-!” Prowl struggled, stumbling awkwardly whilst trying to avoid his brothers doorwings.

“What’s becoming or not is the least of your worries right now, Prowl.”

And so, a few moments later, Prowl found himself sat in the office of none other than _Ultra Magnus himself_. Safe to say, he was bricking it. Just a little. Okay, a _lot_.

“Can I ask what this is about?” Prowl nervously asked. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit.

Ultra Magnus silently placed a datapad in front of him, the device being dwarfed by the sheer size of his hands. Prowl picked it up and onlined it, reading the title.

“This is… a simulation I submitted the other day?”

“This was no simulation.” Magnus rumbled. “This was a real plan. How did you get it?”

Smokescreen was almost glaring at him from the corner. Prowl slowly looked between the two. This had to be a joke. Surely. This _had_ to be some kind of joke.

“I didn’t steal it if that is what you are asking.” Prowl replied, doorwings abnormally still. “There must have been some mistake somewhere. Why would I willingly put my partner at risk? Jazz is involved in this plan, yes? Why would I do that, knowing that I do not have either authorisation nor experience? This is a mistake, I would never purposely steal this.”

“He’s telling the truth.” Smokescreen said from the corner, optics bright.

“How can you tell?”

“His doorwings.” Smokescreens own flicked. “I know all his tells.”

“Then that raises the question on how he managed to get it.” Magnus turned his oppressive attention to Smokescreen. Smokescreen visibly and audibly swallowed hard.

“I… uh, well...”

“I think the switch must have happened when he was handing me the documents.” Prowl spoke up. “There were so many he accidentally dropped them – it may have happened then.”

“We can discuss this later.” Magnus gave Prowl a pointed glance. “But to both of you, do not allow this to happen again.”

“Yessir.” The two replied in unison.

Prowl dismissed, he all but sprinted from his office, leaving Smokescreen to face Ultra Magnus alone. Yikes, yikes, yikes!

* * *

Jazz swung his legs as he read the plan that he’d been presented with.

“You’re not actually allowed to go on this,” the CSO, a femme called Moonchaser said as she leaned against the wall, “but I thought that it was a pretty solid plan regardless. Tactical made a booboo and this plan is now defunct, but I want you guys to see this regardless. Raise your standards and all that.”

“Who wrote this?” Jazz asked. “Ah’ve never seen the success rate for somethin’ like this so high.”

“I can’t say.” she said, optics glinting. “But I think you know.”

“Mmhm, Ah think Ah do.” Jazz passed it over to Mirage, who gave him a curious look before reading through it himself. Bumblebee stood up on the tips of his pedes to read it too, Mirage stooping slightly to allow him a better look. “He has such a beautiful mind, too…” He happily sighed.

“Primus, Jazz, pull yourself together. Anyway,” She held out her hand to have it handed back to her, “Since we’re having to delay this in order for tactical to fix their mistake, you guys are in the training rooms until then. You’ve been sitting on your afts for far too long and those brainiacs in engineering have _finally_ fixed the damn things. If you are the team to break them again, I may actually skin you alive.”

“Duly noted.” Mirage dryly replied.

The three of them tromped down to the training rooms, delighted to find that they had indeed been fixed, and set to stretching themselves. Jazz was leaning forwards, chest flush with the ground and legs in a split, when Mirage asked him a question.

“I couldn’t help but notice the flowers on your desk.” Mirage began, almost mirroring Jazz, only he was far less flexible and didn’t quite manage it. “Were they from Prowl?”

“Yup!” Jazz popped the p. “They’re real cute, ain’t they?”

“Do they have any special meaning?”

“In Polyhex, nah. It’s just a nice gesture. As far as Ah know they don’t really mean anythin’ in Praxus, either.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Do they mean anythin’ in particular in the Towers?”

“A mixture of your colours and the receivers colours in a gift is like… asking to take the next step, whether it be starting a relationship, bonding, having a creation...” Mirage counted them on his fingers as he rattled them off. He jumped hard, hands clanking loudly on the floor as they made to clutch at his chest in shock as Jazz choked on his own breath.

“Woah!” Bumblebee exclaimed. “You alright there, Jazz?”

“Fine!” He shifted upright into a sitting position, “Just fine!”

He didn’t know why it took him this long to realise it, but the gifts Prowl had given him were traditionally house-warming gifts in Polyhex – just without the context, and the absence of the typical Polyhexian snacks especially – he hadn’t realised it. A very, very annoying and irritating part of his processor had latched onto the idea that Prowl was inviting him to sleep in his quarters with him, and it simply wouldn’t let go.

* * *

When the new and updated plan had been presented to them, they had simply looked at each other and promptly refused.

They wanted _Prowl_ to do it.

Prowl himself could hear the argument from outside as he walked past, pausing for a moment when he recognised Jazz’s voice, but quickly moving on when he realised he actually didn’t want to get involved, and just wanted to have a simple, relaxing day at work.

He had been banished to battlefield tactics, Smokescreen still not in Ultra Magnus’ good graces and just a little cross at Prowl, however he still had to clock in in the Echo room, which took him past where Jazz currently was. He was thinking of stopping and saying hi – he hadn’t seen him yet that day – but he had sounded ever so cross and whatever was happening inside that room was definitely not to be disturbed.

That is, until Jazz waltzed into tactical and plucked him from his seat, leading him straight back again.

“… You want to use my plan?” Prowl slowly asked. The CSO, a femme he wasn’t particularly familiar with but who he seemed to remember being called Moonchaser, sighed and nodded.

“With some adjustments to make up for the lost time.” she glared at the trio behind him, Jazz grinning widely. “They insisted.”

“I’m sure they put up a good argument.”

She snorted. “You could say that. Can you get it done by this afternoon?”

“I can get it done now.” Prowl replied, quickly typing on the datapad, digits a blur as he tapped away at the screen. “Just a moment while I check the numbers.”

“Are you _serious_ -!”

Jazz felt his knees weaken. Primus, Prowler, you can only get so attractive! He discreetly reached out to brace himself on the shelf behind him.

“I believe this is adequate.” Prowl handed the datapad back to her. She snatched it with narrowed optics, closely scrutinising it. Her face fell the more she read it, optics quickly flicking back between him and the datapad.

“Smokescreen really wasn’t kidding about you, you’re something else _entirely_.” She whistled. “Why were they keeping you from me?”

“Lack of experience, or so I am told.”

“Like I’m gonna believe that. I’ll get this reviewed, and then you three little devils can be on your merry way.” She wiggled her fingers at the three special ops mechs.

“If I may, I am needed in the tactical department.” Prowl dipped his doorwings respectfully.

“Of course! Thanks for your help.”

The moment the door closed, Jazz released a strangled noise as he stared at the door after Prowl, making three necks click in the speed at which they turned to look at him.

“Primus, why is he so hot~” Jazz whined.

“Good god, Jazz, pull yourself together.” Moonchaser snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Do you folks over in Polyhex get heat cycles? Is this what this is? Do I need to fetch Ratchet?”

“No! No, Ah’m jus’ a mess.” Jazz sighed.

“Damn right you are. You two, keep an optic on him. I’ll go run this by the other brainiacs and then get you started. Best get prepping.”

“Yessir!” They chorused in unison.

* * *

Prowls plans seemed to work best for Jazz if he took them, and then immediately cast them to the wind and improvised.

And so that was just what he did.

Prowl would painstakingly plan a mission, thinking of every single opportunity, of every single hazard, of every single mistake they could make, and would write down an exact path for Jazz and his team to take along with contingency plans should things take a turn for the worst. And, for the most part, these would be followed.

But Jazz was an improviser, and turning things on their head was what he did best. So while the rest of his team would follow Prowls words to the letter, Jazz was more happy to have some wiggle room in the matter and do as he saw fit. It drove the other tacticians _up the wall_ – after all, Prowl was absolutely awful at giving instructions via the comm units and so he was never actually in the room guiding the mission, it was left to them instead. He only ever found out that Jazz had misbehaved again through the grape vine, or from Ratchet while Jazz sheepishly smiled at him from a medical bay berth.

It only took Jazz doing this twice for Prowl to get smart about it. He began writing the missions _expecting_ Jazz to go off and do his own thing. And suddenly, their success rate mysteriously skyrocketed.

Most mysterious, indeed.

“97% success.” Prowl said as he handed the datapad to Smokescreen.

“ _97%?!_ ” Smokescreen snatched the datapad, quickly scrolling through it, optics flying over the display. “Seriously? Did you drop a number somewhere? That’s insanely high.” Smokescreen frowned at him. “Are you sure this is following the brief?”

“Checked, checked, triple checked, and then checked again. 97%.” Prowls doorwings flicked in what Smokescreen recognised as annoyance. “You are more than welcome to try it yourself.”

“If this goes wrong, Jazz is dead. You know that, right?”

“I am painfully aware of that.”

Smokescreen offlined the datapad and stood still for a few moments, staring at the dark screen. “Alright. Okay. Fine. I’ll pass it on.”

97% indeed. They returned back to base a few cycles later; early, earlier than predicted at least, and so Prowl was not prepared at all to suddenly have Jazz leaping into his arms in excitement, forcing Prowl to hastily find a surface for the datapads he was holding to be relocated to before he had an arm full of Jazz.

“We did it!” He cheered, arms wrapping tightly over his shoulders as he wiggled in excitement.

“Jazz?!” Prowl stumbled backwards, barely catching his balance as he returned the contact. “I didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow.”

“Ain’t ya happy ta see me?”

“Of course I am, I missed you – have you even debriefed yet?”

“Ah wanted ta see ya first.” Jazz chirped as he jumped free. “Ah’m goin’ now.”

Jazz threw him a cheeky wave as he sauntered away, but the second he turned the corner he allowed himself to be overtaken with the giddy excitement he felt. Prowl said he had missed him. _Prowl missed him_.

Oh, be still, my beating spark!

Prowl, on the other hand, had to quickly duck into the nearest cupboard to hide his face into his hands and try and regain his composure. Silly, silly bot! Heat prickled his fingertips as he groaned into his palms. It had felt so good to hold him, the weight in his arms pleasant, the closeness making him feel less like a part of him was missing. This was going to be the end of him, he was sure of it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit longer! Mentally not doing all that great right now, however! This was extremely fun to write and your enthusiasm definitely helped <3 cannot thank y'all enough.

There was yet another upheaval in staff at the base. A transfer – both in, and out.

Ultra Magnus was leaving along with Springer, Hot Rod, Kup, and Arcee. A cause for celebration! Jazz had instantly asked Prowl if he’d join them at the weekend. He had promptly declined, saying something about it being obscene. Jazz had laughed and shrugged.

But it was the new recruits who were coming _in_ that made Prowl change his mind.

There were a handful of them – all obvious greenhorns and only here temporarily for training – but it was one in particular who grated Prowl the wrong way. They were another Praxian, a medical mech called Silverstreak.

And he had taken quite the shine towards Jazz. _His_ Jazz. And he would be having _none_ of that. Silverstreak had found any opportunity to be almost like a limpet to him, even going so far as to physically act as a barrier between himself and Prowl. Jazz found it extremely amusing and somewhat endearing, but Prowl? It was really, _really_ pissing him off.

The base was starting to give him a wide berth as he visibly _simmered_ , expression dark as he watched him. He didn’t know what to do – it wasn’t as if he had any claim on Jazz to speak of, and from the beginning the deal had been until they either didn’t wish to continue, or had found someone else. Jazz was more than welcome to take Silverstreak as his partner instead of Prowl, whether he liked it or not.

Prowl suddenly realised that he didn’t know _any_ Polyhexian courtship rituals, and so that was how he found himself in the corner of the rec room with Blaster, looking equally as darkly at Silverstreak.

“Ah’ve been trying ta get him ta back off all week. He’s gettin’ on ma nerves. Can’ take a hint.”

“You and me both.”

“So, how can Ah help ya?”

“Polyhexian courtship rituals.” Prowl knitted his fingers together in front of him on the table. “I realise I know none, and I wish to make a gesture that cannot be ignored.”

“Wouldn’ Praxian be better?”

“He’s either purposely ignoring my doorwings, or he’s just thick. He’d be more than aware to back off by now if he had been paying any attention. No, I need _Jazz_ to respond.”

“Honestly, Ah think ya just need ta walk into a room he’s in an’ bobs ya uncle.”

“And if I were to walk into a room prepared with a Polyhexian romantic gesture?”

“Melt at ya feet. Say no more, Ah get ya. Give me just a sec...” Blaster rummaged in his subspace for a moment before producing a datapad, and plugged a data cable into it. “Ah’ll put all the traditional ones Ah know, plus some things Ah know that Jazz likes.”

“Thank you.”

Blaster handed him the datapad, and Prowl quickly flicked through it, face falling.

“A… a lot of these involve singing and dancing of some kind, don’t they?”

“Yup.” Blaster replied. Prowl swallowed hard. Damn it. Not his strong suit, not his strong suit _at all_.

He heaved a heavy sigh. “Thank you, Blaster. If you’ll excuse me.”

Prowl stood and left, heading back towards his quarters. This would have to do. He’d have to make do.

* * *

And _that_ was how Jazz found himself completely and utterly _swooning_ at how Prowl had magically managed to incorporate various dances into their daily life – if he had Jazz’s hand, he’d twirl him around; he was now actually entertaining Jazz’s silly little dancing requests, allowing Jazz to pull him into short dances that reminded him starkly of what Bluestreak did when he was younger.

But, even more surprisingly for Prowl, Jazz was starting to do things _back_. He lacked doorwings – an all important piece of hardware in Praxian communication – but Primus, if he didn’t try anyway. A hand applying pressure at the hinge for his wings when he was feeling tense, using his index fingers as replacement for doorwings when attempting to reflect emotions. He wasn’t very good at it – often, Prowl had to ask him what he even meant because of all of the mixed signals he was sending – but the effort he went through warmed his spark none the less.

The weekend was rapidly approaching, and Prowl realised he had a decision to make. Rest on his laurels that his efforts hadn’t gone unnoticed, and Silverstreak would either back the Pit off or Jazz would ruthlessly reject him, or come along too and _really_ make a statement?

The latter was far, _far_ more appetising to him.

“Actually,” Prowl slid into the seat next to him on their midday refuel break on the day of the planned celebration of the departure of Ultra Magnus, sliding his arm over the back of Jazz’s seat, “I think I will join you tonight.”

“Really?” Jazz asked in delight, grin stretching from audial to audial. “Yay! Ah’m so excited.”

“I can teach you another dance.”

“Have Ah ever told you that ya my favourite?”

“Many times.”

Prowl felt extremely self conscious that evening as he made his way to the entrance, where he’d agreed to meet with Jazz. Had he gone overboard? Maybe – he’d gone and used his Good wax.

Jazz was already there, and Prowl felt his vents stall. Oh, _Sigma_. Jazz looked as though he’d splurged on his polish, too, glittering and sparkling like the night sky. He grinned when he saw him, waving. Prowl quickly walked over, taking his hands as Jazz offered them.

“You look fantastic.” He breathed.

“Ya too.” Jazz purred. “Like a snack.”

Prowl snorted in laughter to hide the sound his engine made. “Are we waiting for the others?”

“Ah’ve let Blaster know we’re goin’ on ahead, Ah want ya to myself for a bit.”

“I can’t wait.”

Jazz linked arms with him, the two leaving the base together. The night air of Iacon was warm. Not overly so like it would have been in Praxus, or Polyhex, but it was somewhat pleasant to walk in. They descended down the stone steps and into the street, slowly walking together. Jazz pointed out things in the windows of the shops they passed, Prowl pausing to look and commenting on it before moving on.

They were the first to arrive. Jazz ordered the fruitiest drink on the menu, looking to start the night off with a bang, while Prowl simply ordered a glass of coolant. When the bartender gave him a strange look, he simply responded with ‘designated driver.’ and a sad shrug. They gave him a forlorn nod and served them without further questioning.

Jazz had raised an optic ridge, though. “Designated driver, Prowler?” He teased. “Ah didn’ think ya were still a cop.”

“I only wish to pace myself tonight.” Prowl replied.

“Aaah, that’s no fair.” Jazz pouted. “Leavin’ me to party on my own.”

“Nonsense. I have dances to teach you.”

Jazz most certainly perked up at that.

They sat at a table and waited for the others to arrive, Jazz practically sat in his lap by the time he’d finished his drink, idly playing with one of Prowls hands as they chatted.

“Come on,” Prowl encouraged him to stand, “I may as well start teaching you whilst we wait.”

Jazz eagerly hopped up and followed him to the dance floor, if only for the excuse to be close to him again.

The others arrived to quite the sight indeed. The two dancing together, Jazz having the absolute time of his life, and Prowl smiling brighter than Smokescreen had seen in _vorns_. He lowly whistled, recognising the dance Prowl was walking Jazz through.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Blaster asked as they slid into a booth, brightly coloured drinks in hand. Silverstreak looked somewhat sparkbroken as Smokescreen answered.

“That dance – I’ve told you before that we have particular dances, right? - is one reserved for very important partners. Ones who we consider to be lifelong.”

“Like, bonded?” Blasters visor brightened in surprise. He didn’t think Jazz would bond without telling him!

“No, no!” Smokescreen quickly waved his hands in front of him. “Aahh, how to say this… Like, candidates? You only do it with someone whom you would seriously consider bonding with.”

Blasters mouth opened in understanding as he silently mouthed ‘oh!’, and turned back to look at them.

“They’re so cute together.” He sighed.

“Yo, shuffle up.” Sideswipe interrupted, nudging him with his elbow, Blaster slid into the booth proper, allowing Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Hound, and Mirage to join them on their humble table.

“I thought Jazz and Prowl were coming?” Hound asked. Smokescreen simply pointed over his shoulder to where the black and white pair were still dancing.

“Whoa!” Hound exclaimed. “I didn’t think Prowl danced!”

And indeed he did. He spun Jazz around and pulled him back in to his arms, the two grinning happily at each other, nose to nose, fields bubbling with happiness and joy.

But Prowl had an ulterior motive. As much as he enjoyed Jazz being flush with him – oh, he enjoyed that very, _very_ much, he was not being self-serving here. No. He was out to make a point.

Prowl made sure Silverstreak was looking before he continued. Petty? Yes. Cruel? Incredibly. Enjoying himself? Absolutely.

He nuzzled his face into Jazz’s cheek, kissing the soft metal as Jazz giggled and laughed, encouraging the touch. “Lost in the moment, was the phrase? He quietly teased as he moved, pressing a line of kisses towards his audial horn, doorwings fluttering and flicking in what every Praxian present recognised as an obvious display of love and affection. It was obvious – painfully so – what Prowl was doing.

He glanced at Silverstreak. He was looking. Prowl smirked. _Good_.

Jazz followed his line of sight, and his visor flashed when he realised that their friends had arrived – as had Silverstreak. “Are ya _jealous_ , Prowler?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” He rumbled in reply, still not taking his optic off of the other Praxian as he idly nuzzled Jazz’s helm where his audial horn connected. They looked devastated. He couldn’t help but feel somewhat good about it.

“Oh my, ya _are_.” Jazz breathily laughed, sliding his hand up Prowls chest to rest on his cheek and forcing him to look at him. “Ah’m not goin’ anywhere. Ya the one Ah’ve got my optic on.”

His hand on Jazz’s waist tightened, pulling him closer. Jazz purred in delight, nuzzling his neck where his helm met it, brushing it with his lips.

“Oh, mech.” Blaster patted the poor poor medic on the shoulder as he shook his head. “Ya had no chance.”

“Been there.” Smokescreen joined in from his other side. “Next drink’s on me.”

* * *

Silverstreak had left by the time Jazz and Prowl sat down at their table again.

“That,” Smokescreen laughed, “was _mean_. Just how much have you had to drink?”

“Nothing.” Prowl replied. “This,” he lifted the drink he had just bought to show it, “will be my first.”

“Seriously?” Smokescreen laughed. “Primus, Prowl, I honestly didn’t know you had it in you!”

“It’s cute~” Jazz replied, one hand squeezing Prowls under the table as he sipped his own. His legs were thrown over Prowl’s and he leaned into him against his chest, his engine happily rumbling.

As the night progressed and the venues changed, the group deciding to bar hop for the night, Jazz progressively got further and further onto Prowls lap until he was practically straddling him. His HUD started to vaguely give him warnings of him becoming just a bit too overcharged for its liking – part of his Special Ops code – but also began to ping him alerts about various other things that he didn’t particularly want to think about right now unless he thoroughly embarrass himself.

He needed a moment to himself, just to collect his thoughts back together again.

“Be back in a sec, Ah just need ta freshen up a lil’ bit.” Jazz said, extracting himself from Prowls lap and fleeing across the bar. He pushed open the door to the powder room, the sudden bright lighting and silence making him wince. _Woah_. The sound insulation in this room was _incredible_.

He leaned over a sink, staring at himself in the mirror.

_Ah know what ya doin’_ , he scolded himself internally. _Stop it. Prowler ain’t yours, ya can’t do that. He ain’t interested_.

He chewed on his nails as a thought gnawed away at him. _But what if..?_

No, no. He couldn’t think that. He was already setting himself up for false expectations, and it was going to _hurt_ when Prowl called this whole thing off, because he _was_. And then Jazz would be all alone to pick up the pieces of his shattered spark, Prowl moving on with his life none the wiser. This whole thing started because he was drunk and picked the first vaguely attractive mecha he could think of, Prowl was just unfortunate that it was him.

Primus, he was far, far too drunk for this. His helm thunked against the mirror as he leaned against it in defeat.

“Ya doin’ okay there?”

Jazz peered behind him in the mirror. Blaster had just walked in, looking equal parts amused and concerned.

“He’s too hot.” Jazz whined.

“Ah’m tellin’ him ta take ya home.” Blaster patted him on the shoulder. “Ya clearly too drunk.”

“Please don’.”

“Ah don’ trust ya to make it back yaself. Hold still.” Blaster ordered. _Not like Ah can go anywhere_ , Jazz bitterly thought. _Ah can’ feel my legs._

Prowl came in a moment later, Blaster watching with concern from the doorway.

“Are you okay?” Prowl gently asked, hand on Jazz’s shoulder. Jazz nodded, face hot with embarrassment.

“Ah think Ah went too far.”

“I’ll take you home.” Prowl slipped his arm into Jazz’s, linking them together. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

* * *

They were only following them to make sure they made it back to base safely. Honestly, that’s all it was, really!

Blaster and Smokescreen followed Prowl and Jazz back to the base with the grace of a herd of elephants, bickering between them both the whole way and not being very discrete at all. It took an immense force of will for the two black and whites to not just… sprint away. That, and Jazz was still uneasy on his feet, much like a newborn giraffe.

It was quick thinking on Prowls part that they lost them. They turned a corner, and Prowl suddenly pulled Jazz into a closet with him, placing a finger over his mouth to silence him when he made to ask why.

Blaster and Smokescreen were audibly perplexed outside, and the two in the cupboard found themselves pressing their hands to the others face to not allow them to laugh and give them away.

After a few moments of silence, hearing the other two walk away up the hall and presumably to their own quarters, Prowl released his grip on Jazz.

“Sorry.” He said. “I just wanted to shake them off.”

“Ah’m sorry, too.”

“Wha-?”

Prowl didn’t even get a chance to finish his sentence before Jazz had grabbed his face and pulled them together, pressing their lips together in a kiss that made Prowl feel fireworks in his chest and butterflies in his stomach. He didn’t know what to do – and froze.

“Oh no, Ah’m sorry, Ah’m so sorry-” Jazz had opened the door to the cupboard and made to escape when Prowls hand shot out and tugged it closed, trapping him in there with him. One word repeated over and over in his mind.

_Again_.

Jazz was saying something, but Prowls audials were ringing so loudly he didn’t process any of it. He gently placed a hand on Jazz’s cheek, the other pausing, visor dimming and leaning into it. His spark swelled in his chest, and he leaned in closer, breath ghosting on his lips.

Soft. Jazz was _soft_. He had thought about it before – how it’d feel to kiss him – but he had never once imagined that Jazz would feel this _good_. His other hand snaked its way up Jazz’s arm from where they both still had a grip on the door handle, delicately cradling the back of his neck. He felt more than heard Jazz happily sigh and melt into him, pulling him closer.

Incredible. It felt _incredible_.

“We should go.” Jazz gasped against him as they broke apart. “Somewhere more private. Ah think we need to talk.”

Talk. Yes. Talking was good.

Prowls quarters were the obvious choice. No roommates, and given the current state of affairs, that was an _extremely good thing_. Prowl wanted nothing more than to get underneath Jazz’s plating, and he had no interest in an audience.

They held hands then entire way there. If they jogged a little just to get there faster, neither of them mentioned it.

“So.”

“So.”

They were both sat opposite each other on the floor, legs crossed and very unsure of what to do with their hands.

“Can I safely assume that we are no longer pretending?”

“Ah’m not even sure when Ah stopped pretending.” Jazz couldn’t help but laugh. Prowl reached forwards and intertwined one of his hands with Jazz’s.

“Me neither.”

“We’re really dumb, ain’t we?”

“Extremely.”

“We tell _no one_ that we were ever fakin’.”

“Lips are sealed.”

“Good. Now come here, Ah wanna make up for all tha’ time we lost.”

Can’t argue with that.

If someone were to look in, they wouldn’t know where one ended and the other began. Neither of them could stop themselves; too long had they denied themselves this. In between kisses they’d laugh, nuzzling their noses together or their faces into necks, into cheeks. They _wanted_ this.

Prowl groaned as he lay spread eagle on his back on the floor, vents loud as he panted heavily. Jazz perched in his lap, vents working just as hard as he curiously watched him.

“I-I need a moment.” Prowl stammered.

“Are ya okay? Do you wanna stop?”

“Never.” Prowl quickly reached out to pull him back again, hands resting at his hip and thigh. Jazz found himself having to brace his hands on Prowls chest, and his breath caught in his throat as he took in the scene underneath him. Prowl clearly was not okay – not in the bad way, far from hit – but his face was bright and his chest was heaving at the rate he was breathing. Jazz decided to have mercy upon him, and give him a moment more to collect himself together.

“Primus, Ah’m so lucky.” He quietly said to himself.

“Hhnh?”

“Nothin’.” Jazz leaned forwards, bracing himself with his hands either side of Prowls helm. “Ya good?”

“Mmhm.” Prowl nodded, leaning up to nuzzle noses with him. “I’m good.”

* * *

Jazz woke up the next morning curled up with Prowl on the floor. He vaguely remembered them taking the pads and blankets off of the bunks and making a make-shift double berth on the floor, the two curling up amongst the mountain of pillows and blankets at their disposal.

Prowl was curled up almost on top of him, helm resting on his stomach. His ex-vents almost tickled.

A hand absently traced patterns on Prowls helm, fingers dancing a delicate pattern as a smile played on his face.

Blaster, however, was _not_ having such a nice and pleasant morning.

Waking up with _Smokescreen_ , and with all the telltale sensations and paint transfers spoke _volumes_ as to just what he’d gotten up to that previous evening. As Primus as hit witness, he was never drinking ever again!

And so, it was with much bitter swearing that Blaster extracted himself from the berth and hobbled down to the washrack, hoping to whoever was listening that nobody saw him.

* * *

“Sooo...” Jazz slowly said over their morning energon, the four of them obviously freshly washed and waxed. “Did anythin’ happen?”

Blaster and Smokescreen choked on their energon in unison, spluttering and exclaiming that _no, nothing happened, why are you even asking?!_

“So something happened, then.” Prowl deadpanned with a shrug. “I really don’t care enough to ask exactly what.”

“So cold, Prowl…” Smokescreen whined. “Not that I’m not grateful or anything, but...”

“Ah’m not that nice.” Jazz grinned, placing his hands into his chin as he leaned forwards. “Beans. Spill ‘em.”

“Wha’ happened last nigh’ is between me and Primus.” Blaster replied, placing his hands together as if praying and looking upwards at the ceiling.

“And he wept.” Smokescreen lowly said into his energon.

“Wha’ about ya two?” Blaster suddenly turned the tables back onto Jazz, diverting the attention back to them. “Ya unusually chipper this mornin’. Usually ya don’t talk until gone noon.”

“Ah jus’ recharged real well.”

“And you?” Smokescreen directed at Prowl.

“Likewise.”

Prowl walked down to Tactical feeling oddly light and airy. Something felt… _different_. Perhaps it was the fact he had recharged particularly well the previous night, or maybe it was because he had finally set things straight with Jazz. He _liked_ him, he liked him _a lot_ – possibly even loved him – and if anything Jazz was babbling last night was to be believed, then he did too.


	10. Epilogue

Prowl woke up to the steady sound of his bondmates vents and the childhood sound of birds singing, the song they always did after it had rained. The familiarity of it made his chest tighten in joy, and he couldn’t help but curl up against Jazz, burying his face into whatever part of him he could reach.

Being back in Praxus was strange, but it felt amazing. He hadn’t been there since he’d transferred out all those vorn ago – as a neutral city state, it had wanted to stay firmly out of the conflict, and Prowl was unable to go whilst he store bore the badge of the Autobots. Besides, duty called enough to keep him busy and firmly in Iacon, and if it came about that Autobots were hanging around in Praxus? Well, the Decepticons would just take that as a threat. It didn’t bear thinking about.

But badges could be removed. The correct documents could be applied for. And so that was how Prowl found himself with his family, back in Praxus on a trip to visit Bluestreak.

Smokescreen had opted to find a hotel on his own – didn’t want Prowl pushing his nose into his business, most likely – and Prowl wouldn’t be surprised if they found him the next day significantly richer, hungover, and absolutely stinking of smoke. Gambling in Praxus was not like gambling in Iacon, _that_ was for sure.

Bluestreak himself lived in their old flat, but the other two rooms (previously his own and Smokescreens bedrooms) had been rented out to other students. It gave Bluestreak some extra cash to play around with (not that he knew it – Prowl and Smokescreen transferred it into his account very quietly indeed. As far as he was concerned, Smokescreen was taking it to use as his gambling fund) and his two brothers a peace of mind that he had enough to comfortably live off of.

Prowl stood, quietly creeping towards the window. He peeled back a section of the curtain, careful to not wake Jazz with the early morning light.

Their hotel had a wonderful view.

He looked behind him, over his shoulder. And if that wasn’t a wonderful view, too. Jazz so rarely managed to continue recharging if something in the room changed. Whether it be the sound of his own engine, someone moving, a light turning off, Jazz would always wake up.

But right now, he slept soundly, and Prowl couldn’t help but watch with a soft smile on his face, golden light from the rising star gently illuminating the room.

* * *

“How did you two meet anyways?” Bluestreak asked, laying on his tummy as he playfully poked at a new crystal growth in the ground of the park. Prowl and Jazz were sat behind him on the edge of a fountain, Jazz sipping away at a cooled cube of energon, Prowl munching on energon sorbet. Smokescreen lounged to the side in the warm rays of their closest star, enjoying the good weather. Iacon had been so _dreary_.

Jazz and Prowl shared a look. Did they finally spill the beans, all these vorn later? Smokescreen would be so cross with them, but it was so long ago now… The humour the pair felt spilling out over the bond told them both all they needed to know.

The beans would have to be spilled.

“We were transferred to Iacon at the same time.” Prowl began. “We briefly met during orientation.”

“And then our little Prowl was so smitten with Jazz they just had to go on a date, and the rest is history.” Smokescreen teased, playfully tapping the top of Bluestreaks doorwing. The youngest Praxian jerked away, laughing and complaining about it tickling.

“Well, actually...” Jazz said, grin twitching at the corners of his mouth. “That’s not _quite_ how it went.”

Smokescreens face fell. “What?”

“We were pretendin’, for a bit.” Jazz explained.

“Both of us were tired with others trying to set us up, so we both went along with it after Jazz claimed to Blaster that he was dating me.”

“Very not sober, Ah will add.”

“Eventually, though…” Prowl looked at Jazz, doorwings flicking.

“You’re not still pretending, are you?” Bluestreak nervously asked. “This isn’t you two coming out all… ‘surprise! It’s all a lie!’, right?”

“No, no!” Prowl was quick to reassure him. “We’re not pretending anymore – Primus, we’re _bonded_ – that wouldn’t work.”

“Ugghh.” Smokescreen groaned into his hands. “You two are going to be the death of me.”

“Ya don’ have to change any bets, do ya?”

“No, that’s the worst part. I do. Someone betted that! I- I have to go back and recollect all of the credits, and then adjust for inflation,” Smokescreens fingers flew as he mentally counted everything. “And then redistribute!”

“Oh, Sigma, Ah’m so sorry-” Jazz was laughing, so he didn’t sound too genuine, but the apology was clear in his field. Prowl was biting his index finger to keep the giggles at bay, looking off into the distance as though searching for a distraction to keep himself together.

“When did you actually start?” Smokescreen demanded, glaring at them.

“Ahh… Mag’s leavin’ celebration, Ah think?” Jazz tapped his bottom lip in thought.

“Yes, with Silverstreak.”

“Poor mech...”

“I still hold no reservations.” Prowls doorwings flicked.

“Oh, _Prowl_ , that makes what you did even worse!” Smokescreen howled in laughter. “Ugh! You had all of us tricked for so long! I hate you both so much!”

Bluestreak watched them as if he were watching a match of tennis, clearly extremely entertained. “Who was the one who made the winning bet?” He curiously asked.

Smokescreen paused for a moment as he checked his databanks, and had a very strange expression on his face.

“Smokescreen?” Prowl asked, putting his sorbet aside and reaching forwards to place a hand on his shoulder.

“Orion Pax.” He quietly said.

“Orion – you don’t mean…?”

“ _Optimus?_ ” Jazz choked.

“Oh, that is excellent.” Smokescreen had a devious grin on his face. “Then in that case, you two can deliver the good news yourselves!”

* * *

“How was your holiday?” Optimus kindly asked the pair as he sat with them in the rec room.

Jazz silently pulled a credit chip out of his subspace, and Prowl a datapad, the pair placing them down in front of him.

“It was wonderful, thank you.” Prowl replied.

“Lot’sa fun music!” Jazz grinned at him. “Ah really think we could do with more crystals around here, too. Makes the place really come alive.”

Optimus looked down at the two items in front of him. “And what would these be?”

“Winnings for bet number 4927.” Prowl replied. “It seems there was a mistake, and the credits had to be redistributed.”

“4927? That was vorns ago.” Optimus replied, onlining the datapad. He didn’t even remember what the bet was!

His optics brightened as he read the text in front of him. Oh.

“Excellent. I was wanting to buy myself a new polish.”

“How did ya know?” Jazz asked.

Optimus simply winked and tapped his nose, collecting his winnings and the datapad and stashing them away into his subspace. “Good day to you both. I trust you will both be present at the meeting this afternoon?”

“Of course.” Prowl replied.

Optimus nodded and turned to leave.

In all honesty, it had been obvious that the two were faking it. Since when did two mechs who were already together give each other such longing looks?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Boys got their escapade in Praxus in the end!  
> Thank you for coming and for your support, totally blown away by it! Much love~  
> I do also have a few bits that I didn’t find anywhere to fit in/decided to change, which I will be posting. Keep an eye out~


End file.
